


Cloy

by smolkristen



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, College Student Katsuki Yuuri, Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Dr. Victor Nikiforov, Explicit Sexual Content, Financial Domination, Humor, M/M, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, questionable life choices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-06 06:07:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12811278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolkristen/pseuds/smolkristen
Summary: "If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing." - Ayn RandVictor read the inspirational quote every morning as he passed it, emblazoned on the front window of his plastic surgery office. His #1 life motto and an intimation as to the exaggerated variety of plastics they practiced here. His second favorite, an iteration, too negative and literal for business signage, but accurate as fuck: Go big or go home."Most of us try to do too much because we are secretly afraid we will not be able to do anything at all." - Rick AsterYuuri hated this quote on the cover of his latest seminar handbook, hated how it got in his head. His Dance advisor insisted he attend a number of workshops focused on the growth and wellbeing of performative students. Said it would help put things in perspective. If by that she meant 'you will now realize what a hapless mess you are no matter how hard you've pushed yourself,' she was right.Or: the Dr. Nikiforov sugar daddy fic I'm not even a little bit sorry about.





	1. Bittersweet Symphony

Beams of sunlight shot through the windows of Victor's bedroom in wide, sideways sweeps, bending and changing with the curves of Yuuri's naked body, exposing some of Victor's marks and shadowing others. Victor slowly pulled his marker across Yuuri's trembling face, finishing the last of his mark-up with a careful caress of ink over skin.

Ever mercurial, Yuuri had asked Victor to inspect and dissect him, a moment of diffidence somehow sprawling into this. Now every part of Yuuri bore some of the black marker's streaks, hasty lines drawn onto his limbs and torso, his ass, his face, his feet.

"What would you change about me, if you could?" he'd said. 

 _Oh, Yuuri_. 

If only he could see himself as Victor imagined him, fierce and perfect and right. So Victor had carved deep into his sugar baby the only way he knew how, hoping to fix him, to alter him forever.

"Yuuri. Open your eyes and look."

 

* * *

 

Some months earlier...

 

Victor hit the right-hand signal to eventually, someday, exit the I-5, trapped in a sea of taillights churning along in sluggish waves of L.A. traffic. There was an accident or five somewhere down the way and he'd exited just in time to avoid the worst of it. Thank God for GPS that rerouted according to traffic.

There was no such easy detour for the conversation he was having, no magical friendship GPS to safely navigate the way. He and Chris were about to collide head-on. It happened so rarely these days, might as well hit the gas.

"So you're ditching me? I can't believe this. After everything I've--after Cabo!"

"I don't know what to tell you," Chris said, clearly annoyed. No one was supposed to bring up Cabo. "Unless tomorrow's concert has suddenly relocated to Paris, I can't go."

"Chris!" Victor whined.

"Victor!" Chris mocked right back. "Look, it's not like I planned this, ok? Scalp the ones you've got and we'll get passes in another city later in the tour."

"No chance in hell of that happening, VIP sold out less than a second after they dropped." Victor would know, he used a secret pre-sale code and six continuously refreshing devices to get them.

"Then find someone else to go with, someone in the right time zone. Or, like I said, we'll go to another show when I get back. Regular tickets are fine. They don't always have to be front row VIP."

"Such blasphemy, I don't think I'll ever recover."

"How many times are you seeing this show anyway?" Chris asked, already intoning disapproval.

"Just three times. Tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday. I couldn't get decent seats for the Oakland show, Tuesday."

Chris barked out a laugh, like that was ridiculous, but didn't comment. Victor had heard it all before. "Anyway, I'm going to enjoy the city of love with my man, so I'm turning my notifs off now."

"Right. Tell Sebastian I said thanks for nothing."

"If you're going to be that salty, you should get your own sugar baby."

What the actual... "That's exactly what I need. Where, oh where can I get a Chris of my very own?" Victor asked theatrically, not wanting to admit how true it was.

Chris didn't respond before ending the call, which was just as well with the mood they were in.

Victor resisted the urge to scrub at his thinning platinum hair. His new therapist was teaching him ways to cope with stress, to handle each stressor methodically like a workplace task. "Calm down," he thought, starting his breathing exercises. "Sort it through."

Feelings: angry, and a little hurt.

Angry at Sebastian for scheduling a surprise getaway on a very inconvenient weekend. Misguided anger, perhaps, but there all the same.

Hurt that Chris had chosen his self-titled "sugar daddy" over their friendship.

Digging deeper, Victor realized he was most upset with himself for having so few people in his life that one friend taking an unexpected vacation could make him feel like _this_.

Flipping through texts on his personal phone, he saw that most cut-off mid conversation. He'd forgotten about them or lost interest, or the other person had become irritated and stopped responding. For whatever reason, the people he liked well enough would attend to him for a while, and then he'd get busy and let them slip, leaving their texts unanswered for days, weeks, or even months. A veritable desert of unwatered relationships.

And those he really liked, the ones who made his steps feel light and his heart pick up speed, well they never seemed to care to the same degree. His messages languished in their inboxes like spoiled leftovers.

There were a few, rare exceptions, and he reached out to them now, ignoring the time between texts and laws about texting and driving. He messaged Mila, Georgi, and two of the young nurses who worked under him, and considered messaging that college kid from the coffeeshop he'd texted with sporadically, but never asked out. He realized he hadn't actually seen the barista since August--it was November now. Probably just a summer job, then. He deleted the contact, trying not to feel too disappointed. It was time to clean house.

With a buzz a new text sprung up from Chris containing a long link that began with heysugarsugar.com and ended with a ton of numbers trailing off the end. Victor sighed and rested his phone against the bottom of his stitched black leather steering wheel as he typed.

<< We talked about this. Stop sending me porn while I'm driving.  
>> It's a sugar dating site.

 Well, Chris was taking this joke a little far.

<< Super helpful, maybe you should just put up me on Craigslist.  
>> NGL I've thought about it. Anyway, that's a referral link to a real deal site, not just a bunch of bots chatting you up while you blow money on membership fees.  
>> Unless you're into robots now. :P  
  
Did Chris really think he'd need to pay someone to put up with him? Jesus.  
  
Then, after a while, came a surprising follow-up text:  
  
>> Take it to the grave, but Sebastian and I met through that site.  
  
_Really?_  
  
He always thought Chris was kidding about the whole sugar baby thing, the same way Victor joked about his mom being a mail-order bride, but apparently not?

All at once, a number of incongruous things clicked into place and made sense. Chris's newfound appreciation for high fashion in med school. His bleached hair and lash extensions, kept up even during residency hell. The number of dates he went on and why he never introduced anyone to any of his mystery boyfriends over the years. Cabo...

It only made sense when he really stopped to think about it. Of course Chris was a sugar baby. A real sugar baby, not just an extremely spoiled boyfriend. This was how he went from stressed to blessed in a matter of months, the transformation clear in hindsight.

And what was more: Chris was really _happy_ right now. He enjoyed being at Sebastian's beck and call, loved being spoiled by him. Chris's earnings were healthy enough now to afford a sugar baby of his own if he wanted one. It clearly wasn't about money anymore.

Victor hovered his index finger over the link a second before definitively tapping on his screen and downloading the app as prompted. He was admittedly curious and eager to see what was in store for him, so he was disappointed when the entire screen filled with blank boxes demanding to be filled before allowing him to sate his curiosity. They started simply enough, asking for his email and preferred username.

His usual email address was mainly for business and contained his last name, so that wasn't happening, but it felt strange using his spam address for this. Whatever, no point in making a special email when no one would ever see it. Right?

Someone blared their horn pulling his eyes sharply back to the road. The alert wasn't directed at him, he'd been coasting along fine and his Cadillac coupe couldn't move an inch, but he put his phone down nevertheless and turned his music up.

A username... The app had warned against using your real name, so obviously he needed some sort of handle. He hadn't come up with one of those in at least a decade, and first impressions were everything.

Maybe a song lyric? He focused his ears on the words filling his car, picking over every word and coming up with something for each track.

Heaven in hiding? Too religious sounding, or sexual, depending if you knew the song.

Drive me wild? Again, too sexual. No need to sound like a tool.

Toll taker? Too heavy.

Only fools fall? Too jaded.

Have you been abandoned too? He rubbed his eyes underneath his sunglasses. Too _everything_.

Maybe not a lyric, then.

What did he really enjoy? Not much.

He loved spending time with his beloved dog, Makkachin, but once upon a time he'd had the Flickr handle PupperLover and, after a few hundred photos of Makka had been uploaded, some weirdo made a furry suit in her image. They tagged him in pictures of them wearing it, which would've been creepy enough without the inclusion of a giant, anatomically correct dog dick.

Chris and Georgi had laughed and laughed, but Victor was horrified and no amount of vodka could burn that image from his brain. He'd tried and failed and was lucky to have a functioning liver afterward. Never mind that he spent several sessions freaking out about it until his therapist insisted they move on. "You can't control the actions of others, but you can control your reactions."

He'd deleted his Flickr account.

He'd wanted to delete the whole internet.

Makkachin was a girl and nothing could ever change that.

She certainly didn't have a giant -- oh my God, he was not delving into that again!

Deep breathing!

So no dogs. Absolutely no dogs. Ok maybe a passing mention somewhere, but definitely not the focus. Otherwise the furry people might find him again and --

Deeper breathing!

Definitely do not think about that.

What else then? He enjoyed work, but that was not easily summed up in handful of allotted characters without using crass shorthand. A lesser man would've punched in DrBooty1225 an hour ago, and been done with it. And maybe he should poke fun at himself in an effort to appear modest or jovial about his profession. Plenty of people called him Dr. Booty and the like, both to his face and behind his back. He smiled it off each time, wishing someone would realize how much he hated it.

Ok so there was just music and concerts. He could admit that.

Honestly, his passion for live performances ran deep enough to drown out almost all else. He lived for bright stage lights, pounding bass, deafening layered music, and heat brushing against his skin from pyrotechnics close enough to singe. There was something sacred in seeing the expressions of artists up close, their costumes and shapes, the movements of their bodies.

He felt a familiar thrum of excitement. In a couple hours he'd experience all of that and savor it by the millisecond. Tomorrow too, if he didn't end up selling the tickets. Dear God, someone text him back before he actually went prowling for boy-toys on the internet!

His phone only had one unread message. A terse two lines from his young cousin, Yuri, relaying that he and his friend were headed to the venue now and would meet him at the VIP entrance, as usual, before 6pm.

Victor sighed. Would no one save him from himself? He continued to think hard about what username to go with and what kind of overall atmosphere he'd like his profile to give off, since it was becoming more and more likely he'd have to use it.

 

After parking in the vast lot, he tucked his parking slip against the windshield and grabbed his phone.

He'd finally decided on the perfect username: Chasingthemusic, and he desperately hoped it wasn't taken, lest her have to start this entire agonizing process again. He entered it and inwardly cheered when the little green checkmark lit up, happy to finally be moving on with his registration.

Next the site asked for pictures. He had dozens of high quality professional photos--his smiling, larger than life face was plastered on billboards all over the Bay area, after all--but he needed a photo that wouldn't immediately give away his identity, something as far from the bright white coat, blue button down, and designer tie as he could get. 

Something like what he was wearing right now, all black basics and a navy satin bomber jacket with embroidered floral details. As luck would have it, the sun was setting at that very moment, making the sky bold and beautiful in oranges, pinks, and blues. It was the perfect backdrop for a selfie and he grinned, lining his phone's camera up to take the shot.

It took a few tries to get the right angle, the one that made his eyes light up, then a few more for various expressions, still not really sure what he was going for. A combination of 'I'm really hot' with a healthy dose of 'I'm not a serial killer' sprinkled in wasn't exactly a simple look to define.

With five minutes to spare, he reviewed the shots, grateful to find it easy to pick a favorite. It was, of course, the very first shot he took, because that was how it always went. He added a filter, adjusted it three times, and then hesitated, wondering if he'd be better off digging up a photo from when he was younger and his forehead didn't need its own zip code. Probably, but with a roll of his eyes, he pushed the upload button anyway.

"Hey old man! Stop taking selfies and get your ass over here!" Yuri's signature squawk reached out from forty feet away where he leaned against the convex wall of the candy cane striped colosseum, close to another teen, whom Victor assumed was the friend.

Victor wandered over, wondering how many years it would be before Yuri stopped shouting horrid things at him in public like this.

"Old man? Yura! You wound me!"

"God, you're dramatic. Anyway, Otabek, this is Victor. Victor, Otabek." Yuri looked oddly nervous during the introduction, his eyes focused on the gap between gravelly asphalt and smooth concrete floor, but Victor couldn't determine the reason for it.

"Thank you for the ticket, I'm looking forward to the show." Otabek said clearly and politely, at odds with the awkward juvenile delinquent vibe he gave off.

"It's no problem. The more the merrier." Victor truly meant that. Yuri had insisted he wasn't going unless Otabek came too. It was much better than going alone, even if he had to buy an extra seat.

The line started moving a couple minutes after six, and they were soon through the typical screenings. It took longer than usual because Yuri and Otabek both wore a number of metal studs and rings, like it was their life's mission to be the most difficult check-in guests security ever had to deal with. He was pretty sure Otabek had some kind of body piercing that made things even more complicated. Victor made a note to never fly with either of them on short notice, as TSA would be an absolute nightmare.

Once inside, they got their VIP lanyards and went to find something to eat, all happy to discover Boo's Philly cheesesteaks, which were awesome especially compared to the usual concessions' offerings. They ordered and found a little table, plopping down with their food and digging in. Yuri ate more neatly than usual, despite the inherent messiness of the sandwiches, given their oversized, filled-to-bursting nature. Otabek attended to both Yuri and Victor, offering up napkins, ketchup, and drink refills without even waiting to be asked.

Otabek's severe haircut and studded leather jacket camouflaged a true mother hen, Victor thought, up until it was time to throw out the wrappers. Otabek put his hand on Yuri's shoulder, leaning in closer than was strictly necessary to ask Yuri if he wanted anything else. Yuri's resulting blush and shy head shake had Victor suddenly questioning if he was going blind.

How else could he have missed it? Otabek wasn't acting like a mom, he was acting like a proper boyfriend. And Victor was like the dad he was trying to impress, Victor realized with some horror as they took their seats.

Victor sat next to Yuri's possible love interest and decided to get to know him better since he had a feeling he'd be seeing a lot more of him in the future. Victor started asking questions, basics like how old he was, if he'd ever been accused of a crime, and when he realized he was cat person. That last one was paramount.

When Otabek quietly declared, "Cats are always cute," Yuri smiled so soft and sweet that Victor was willing to let the couple's three year age difference and that breaking and entering charge go. They were both in high school anyway, and Otabek seemed like the type to take relationships seriously.

Assured that his cousin was in respectable company, Victor turned slightly away in his seat and let the boys chat together about the soccer game they were going to tomorrow. He pulled out his phone and started filling in the rest of his sugar daddy profile ( _what even_ was _his life anymore?)_

He filled in boxes for his age and home city, 34 and San Francisco respectively, pausing when the next screen asked if he wanted to share his current location as within a set radius. After a moment's thought, he set it to 5 miles and moved on. This screen asked if he wanted to be alerted via notification if a sugar baby was nearby. He went ahead and deselected it, since he had a creeping suspicion that in a city as populated as Los Angeles or San Francisco it would get annoying quickly.

Next came more simple questions, his height and body type, his ethnicity. Easy. He hit the PhD/Post Doctoral selection with pride when it asked for his education level and quickly hit single and no kids for the rest, feeling uncomfortable about the 'married but looking' option.

After indicating that he didn't smoke and only drank socially, it asked his occupation. Not wanting to give everything away, he typed in 'Doctor' instead of 'The Best Plastic Surgeon in San Francisco.' He could always make that understood at a later date.

The next set of questions gave him pause as box after box inquired after his finances. How much he spent per month. How much he made. His net worth.  
  
Did people seriously answer this stuff?

"What are you doing?" Yuri asked, eyeing all the choices between $500,000 and $100 million.  
  
"Nothing, just taking a survey," Victor said, recovering smoothly. He put his phone in camera mode and pointed it at the teens. "Smile!"  
  
Both of the boys immediately put on stoic faces, and Victor had to admit their 'resting bitch face' game was strong. Teenagers. He took the photo anyway.  
  
The concert started soon after. Many seats were still empty, but with two openers slated it wasn't entirely unexpected. The crowd that was there seemed loud enough to make up for the stragglers regardless.

The first act was Charli XCX, who was on pitch and came across energetic even though she looked a little tired under the eyes. Hopefully just tour-lag. She sang on a small platform in front of her DJ, and he could hear Otabek commenting about the mixing style and equipment. Charli's songs, like the singer herself, were poppy and fun, hyping up the crowd just as intended, and Victor appreciated the infectious atmosphere she created, cheering loudly after each set. 

The next act, though, doused that fire with ice water.

The sound was cranked up to a painful level and was accompanied by some of the poorest showing of lip syncing Victor had ever seen. Victor had never heard any of their songs and tried to get into it, to give it a chance, but it just wasn't happening, especially considering the damage his eardrums were incurring.

"This guy sucks." Yuri said, leaning over Otabek to rudely gesture at the singer on stage.

Victor just shrugged. It wasn't like he was here for the openers.

"You'd think Charli would have hierarchy over... whoever these people are." Yuri continued.

Otabek nodded along. "Maybe the name is a warning: Party Next Door."

Yuri laughed, "Like, literally, the party is next door?"

Otabek smirked.

Victor brought up the maps app on his phone. "The only thing next door is a cemetery."

Otabek nodded some more. "I stand by my previous statement."

Victor cracked a smile. He loved when people were honest and petty; it made him feel better about his own levels of cattiness.  
  
Giving up on even the hope of enjoying the current act, all three of them got on their phones in an attempt to occupy themselves until the main event. Victor returned to his profile, texting Chris even though he probably wouldn't answer.

<< That site is asking about my finances.  
>> Of course they are. It's a sugar site. Answer truthfully and you'll get a good baby.

 _Creepy_. 

<< I don't even know the answers.  
>> Math is your friend.  
  
Victor rolled his eyes even though Chris wasn't there to see it. 

<< No it isn't.  
>> Calculator app is your friend.  
<< I don't know the numbers, Chris.  
>> Bank app is your friend.  
  
Ugh. Too much effort.  
  
<< I'll just ballpark it.

He'd earned over two million last year, plus investments, plus whatever was left of his trust fund after paying off med school and his condo... Ok, so perhaps he should pay more attention to his accounts, but it was easier to let his investment team handle everything. In total, he probably had closer to ten million than five million, so he went with that.

He seemed to be nearing the end, but of course the next screen was filled with more difficult sections, asking him to write a little blurb about who he was and what he was looking for. There was at least a helpful list of keywords he could select. Most were straight forward, easy to understand. Friends with benefits, for example. But a few eluded him. Time to hit up Chris again.

<< What's BBW?

Chris sent a link to a BBW google search.

<< Really?  
>> Google is your friend.  
<< You're supposed to be my friend!  
>> :P

He didn't want to click the link in front of the boys. Who knew where it would lead? The only other thing listed that he didn't understand was...

<< Financial Domination?  
>> DON'T

There was no little [...] to suggest an explanation was coming and Victor was more than a bit curious now. Something so perverse, even Chris was unequivocally against it? Hmm... Wikipedia would be safe, right?  
  
Financial Domination: a money slavery kink in the BDSM world where a submissive or money slave, gives gifts and money to a cash master (or mistress) dominant.  
  
Wow. Just...wow. He would never stop being surprised by the variety and creativity of other people's kinks. Never.  
  
<< Interesting. I wonder...  
  
The lights dimmed and Halsey's intro started play, her voice reciting the opening lines of Romeo and Juliet over the speakers. He eagerly tucked his phone into his pocket without sending any additional follow-up.  
  
Let Chris worry about him a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 1-4 have been edited by the fabulous [AJWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajwolf). Thank you for spending so much of your time helping me make this story better <3
> 
>    
> Next up, Victor completes his profile and allows curiosity to get the best of him.


	2. Sweet Like Sugar Venom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ever-curious Victor Nikiforov earns new kinks the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cal is colloquial for The University of California at Berkeley, or U.C. Berkeley, the top public university in the US. It's on par with Harvard, Oxford, etc. and they have an excellent dance program.
> 
> You try telling me Katsuki Yuuri isn't a genius and you'll need Dr. Nikiforov to fix you up afterwards.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings:  
> \- What happens in this chapter is completely consensual but not verbally stated. (Miss me with that non-con stuff.)  
> \- Financial Domination involves degradation for pleasure. There’s a scene that’s short and mild, experimental, and probably quite different from what you’re expecting.  
> \- Have some faith that I’m guiding you down a path of good. The oasis is on the horizon, but you’re going to sweat getting there.

After the concert, and more stilted 'thank you's from the boys, Victor watched Otabek and Yuri drive off the lot. He noted the judicious use of turn signals and full, complete stops. Gleefully escaping the responsibility of driving Yuri home guilt-free, he pulled his phone out to queue an upbeat playlist and discovered a stack of missed texts.

Chris hadn't taken the bait.

>> I know what you're doing and it's not going to work. See you Monday

<< Well you're no fun

Victor frown as he read through the rest of his texts with disappoint. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd hear anything back from Chris for the rest of the weekend.

Mila, Georgi, and one of the nurses had also returned his texts. All sent their love and regrets. Georgi added that they were still on for Sunday, but that was a given. He always came to the San Diego shows so he had an excuse to spend the weekend with his more-off-again-than-on-again girlfriend, Anna.

Inna? Anya? Anya.

Probably.

Keyed up from the show, he stopped for gas before driving an hour to his usual Anaheim hotel, the Hyatt Regency. The best hotels in town were owned by Disney, but he prefered to stay a bit away from the parks. Coupled with a slightly higher price point meant noisy families tended to stay elsewhere.

After checking in, he set his travel bag on the luggage rack and flopped onto the bed, too tired to shower or change. "Plush hotel beds are the best," he moaned, lolling on fresh, ironed sheets and a fluffy down comforter. Even if he was alone, it was heavenly.

 

It felt like he'd only just nodded off when his stomach nudged him awake. He would have liked to sleep later considering the late night he'd had, and would be enjoying for the next two nights, but the hunger pangs and his circadian rhythm made it impossible to sleep any longer. It was probably for the best as the bedside clock displayed 8:43AM, which meant he had less than nine hours left to find his +1 for tonight's event. He quickly showered and dressed and headed downstairs in pursuit of breakfast, already thumbing through the login screen at heysugarsugar in dim elevator light.

Caffeine and mania roaring through his system, Victor furiously filled out the remaining few sections of his profile as he ate. He tried to sound friendly but cool in his About Me message, managing to push through without collapsing into an existential crisis.

As for the Looking For section, well, that was even harder to nail down. A lot of the listed options were about trips and travel. Did driving nonstop to L.A. count as a trip? He winced. Yeah, probably not.

Ignoring the jetsetter options and how lame they made him feel, he tapped Attentive. Reviewing the other choices, he tapped All Ethnicities. Then he stalled again.

It shouldn't feel this awkward to select the sex and romance options on a sugar baby site, but it did. Instead he tapped Platonic, but that felt kind of strange, too, so he also tapped Romance. Maybe that would be confusing? Oh wait, they were optional. He deselected everything.

With one box remaining, he filled in, 'Someone who shares my appreciation for live performance and enjoys experiencing those unique moments. Let's go to lots of shows and concerts! Anything beyond that we'll have to see if there's a spark.' Was it ok to sound both excited and skeptical? He hadn't felt a spark in a long time, not since his residency. Jake and his wife had twin boys now, and God only knew what Ashford was up to. Victor pushed those skeletons to the deepest recesses of his closet, so far back they'd be buried behind a sentimental pair of child-sized ice skates.

Skeptical was a safe mindset.

Survey complete, he entered his credit card information, and finally-- _finally--_ the site led him to a page of sugar baby profiles. He hadn't been sure what to expect, maybe an online concierge or some kind of matching service, but apparently he would have to filter through profiles and contact these men himself. Fuck.

There were two tabs, Recommended and Nearby. A quick glance told him the Recommended selections were based on home city, and with tonight's show rapidly approaching, he tabbed to Nearby. It wasn't too extensive a list, around twelve men in order of proximity, but he still hoped to find someone promising.

First up was a guy grabbing his junk in a very skimpy swimsuit, close up. It left nothing to the imagination and wasn't exactly impressive either. Victor never wasted sympathy on fools. Pass.

Next was a hot surfer, but in one of the additional photos he looked high as a kite, confirmed by a 420 in his username. Occasional partying was one thing, but stoning out your existence? Hard pass.

The third profile made him bite his lip to stop from laughing out loud. Openly Republican? In this era? Good luck, sweetheart. Just no.

Another scroll revealed McDickPic II, this one a little too impressive. But who'd put their giant penis as their main image? Where was the surprise? The big reveal? Save something for later, people.

Thankfully the one after that was an absolute match. A lot of his pictures were dance poses, tights eating up muscled legs, and his blurbs were playful and well crafted. Everything about him was perfect until the Looking For portion. Financial Domination. Victor could admit he was curious. But he was new to this, so probably better to start with something softer, with someone softer.

After favoriting the profile for later, he went back to the previous page. He did the same for five other profiles but in the end only messaged three guys, including another sexy dancer. Hopefully one of them messaged back in time.

By 11:30, he'd settled in at the desk in his room and began working through his list of post-op patient check-ins. One after another, he called to ask about their pain levels and figure out if anything was out of the ordinary. These little check-ins were one of the less enjoyable aspects of his job--hours upon hours spent listening to his most beloved patients flip into narcissistic hypochondriacs high on Oxy.

It would've been a riot in med school, but no longer. Now he was responsible for these people. It became the trial of each day to determine if their recovery was going well or if they needed immediate medical attention. So much time wasted, puzzling it out from every patient interaction he could remember and from his notes when he couldn't. It was usually a toss-up, the ill pretending to be fine and the fine convinced they were dying.

After finishing with a touchup patient, his personal phone buzzed with a message from heysugarsugar.

 **hottiecumlaude:**  
Are you looking for an online, phone, or RL arrangement?

 **Chasingthemusic:**  
RL

 **hottiecumlaude:**  
Interested  
I have some time around 1pm today

Well that was quick. Victor looked over the man's profile, not remembering who was who after seeing so many. Oh. It was one of the financial domination guys, the dancer, but he'd updated his profile picture. He wasn't wrong about the hottie descriptor in the slightest, sharp Asian eyes cutting a look that said 'I know just what to do with you.'

Victor messaged back asking where and got a response, but had to handle a mouthy implant patient first. It said not to mix Oxy and alcohol right on the bottle and who the hell wanted to drink two days after major surgery? "Live long enough to enjoy the fabulous ass I gave you!" Victor didn't say as he hung up to get back to the messages on his personal phone.

 **hottiecumlaude:**  
La Vie en Tea at the Orange Outlets

Well that was easy enough and at least he was fairly straightforward about what he wanted, although Victor preferred local boutiques to outlets. But shopping with a demanding sugar baby sounded pretty fun. And there was a bit more freedom in trying this away from home.

 **Chasingthemusic:**  
Sounds good, see you then.

Chris was going to freak out when he told him.

 

Even with sunglasses on, Victor spotted hottiecumlaude from the parking lot, calmly reading a lean novel under a cherry red tabletop umbrella. He took the man in, his pursed lips and short, dark hair, and as soon his sunglasses were lowered, dark eyes staring right back as Victor approached.

He hadn't really thought about what to say, but a soft "Hi" fell immediately from his lips.

The novel was tucked away into a leather messenger bag before Victor could make out the cover. Hottiecumlaude watched his blatant snooping with amusement, crossing his arms over a white jean jacket before asking, "What's your name, or what would you like me to call you in public?"

Conventional etiquette starting to come back to him, Victor held out his hand, "I'm Victor."

Hottiecumlaude stared at Victor's hand and made no move to exchange the physical greeting, simply watching as Victor made a fist and withdrew. "You may call me CB in public. Sorry, but I won't touch you until you've done something to deserve it. Go order two black teas, hot. I'll wait here."

"Okay?" Victor half asked before going inside the overly warm cafe to wait behind a teacup cluttered counter.

CB's order was very clear, so he repeated it back to the shop attendant. She explained that they had dozens of black teas and he asked her to choose the best. That earned him a lecture about likes and dislikes being unique to each person but, after a few questions, they settled on Assam Golden Tips, an aromatic tea from Dikam, the best tea garden in Assam. All well and good, considering Victor never cared for tea in the first place, exceptional or otherwise.

Their order didn't take long at all after that and soon Victor was heading back outside to the table. He set the tray down, careful not to jostle the full glass pot and matching cups in saucers. Trying to remember all the steps, he poured hot water directly over the handmade tea sachets the shop attendant had placed into each teacup, then handed one of the sets to CB by its saucer. The tea bled sunset orange, an initial light golden yellow giving way to darker swirls, all displayed with forethought in perfectly clear vessels.

"Now sit." Came CB's firm voice. Victor sat down, his hands gripping his thighs. "Very good, you take direction well. And you look eager. I like that."

Victor preened a bit, then felt strange for doing so. He watched CB gently squeeze his delicate tea sachet with the head of his teaspoon, rest it on the saucer, then stir in two sugar cubes. Victor began to copy him, remembering something the tea lady said about keeping to less than three minutes of steeping time.

"I have questions." CB continued after a too-hot sip of tea. "From your profile, I saw you're single with no children, correct?"

"Yes." Victor added sugar cubes to his tea as well, twice as many as CB.

"Good. I refuse to take money from family men. I'm going to assume the rest of your profile is truthful as well."

Victor nodded as he sipped his tea slowly.

CB eyed him over the rim of his cup. "Your description of what you're looking for is too vague. Are you interested in a sexual relationship?"

"Umm..." He took another sip to buy himself a moment, ignoring the slight protest from the tip of his sensitive tongue.

"It's a yes or no question, Victor. I don't like having to ask twice."

"I don't know." Victor said in a rush, eyes on his drink. "I've never done anything like this before." Well there went all his cool points, if he had any to start with.

CB set his tea down and added another sugar cube. "Are you attracted to me?" He didn't seem to care about the answer at all.

"Yes, but..."

"But?"

"But we've just met and you're kind of...intimidating?"

CB raised an eyebrow at that. "Are you sure that's not the draw?"

Victor shifted in his seat a little. He wasn't sure of the answer, but he supposed that wasn't an outright no.

CB's lips turned up slightly as he took in Victor's reaction. "I think this might work out just fine."

 

There was a long pause as CB finished his tea, placing his saucer and cup back on the tray along with his little teaspoon. Victor didn't know what to say and found himself frequently looking out to the palm fronds stirring in the distance, the heat from his cup burning pleasantly against his palms. Should he invite this person to come tonight? He wasn't sure. There was something appealing about the way CB took control of the situation, but he just wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to relax in his presence, or if he wanted to. It was all just a bit confusing.

Before he could even decide what to do, CB picked up the thread of their earlier conversation and began to unravel everything.

"Since you're uncertain, I'll go ahead and lay down my expectations. You will listen to everything I say and do everything I tell you to do." Victor started to interrupt when CB put up one finger to shush him. "I will never do anything that will compromise your work or reputation unless you ask me to. Blackmail kink is something I enjoy doing quite a bit, but I insist on a contract stating it's consensual. I'm not going to jail because you're a pervert with no self control."

Victor didn't even know what to say to that. He could feel his face heating up in secret shame, even though he'd done nothing wrong. Yet. He checked another mental box of things he didn't know could make his pulse race. He was checking an awful lot of those today.

CB seemed pleased with his reaction and continued.

"I'm also nothing like the sugar babies you're used to. I'm not in this for fuck-me shoes and shopping trips. While I do appreciate those gestures," CB leaned forward onto the table and spoke in a quieter voice, like he was telling a secret, "I have a financial fetish. I want money."

Not much of a secret, that.

"Of you, I'll require a monthly tribute of $4,000--double that for exclusivity." Leaning in even closer, CB reached forward, pushing Victor's fringe away from his face and achieving better eye contact. "If you're a day late or a penny short, I'll cut you off completely. I have no desire to talk to you if you won't meet my needs."

Holy fuck. Victor's entire body was tingling. What the hell was even going on with him?

"Overwhelmed, hmm? That's all right." His fringe fell back into place as CB took his hand away and stood. "Your naïveté is refreshing. I'd like to play with you a bit."

CB slipped away from the table with his slim leather messenger bag, like he was leaving. Victor stood awkwardly at the table watching him go, confused, until CB turned with that raised eyebrow of his.

"Are you making me wait?"

Without a second thought, Victor abandoned his drink and hastened to catch up. He walked near CB, step behind his right shoulder, passing several shops and a large potted topiary until they stopped in front of an off-brand ATM. This confused Victor, as he couldn't remember the last time he'd used cash in an American shop. $100 worth of twenties sat untouched in his wallet for the last--

His mind cut out as CB crowded Victor against the ATM with his body, grinding the beginnings of an erection into Victor's ass, his hands smoothing against Victor's hips. Victor froze. He thought CB was going to palm him, feeling both concerned and desperate, but instead CB cupped his wallet.

CB's breath beat hot against his neck, panting as he squeezed Victor's wallet through the pocket, feeling its shape and thickness. "We're going to start slow, since you're so green."

Victor's traitor of a body enjoyed being pressed against the metal of the machine, enjoyed CB's heat on him, his mouth against his ear. He felt as CB finally reached into his tight pocket to pull his wallet. CB threw it onto the dash of the ATM and whispered, "$500. Now," into his ear before mouthing wet little bites along the neckline of his t-shirt.

Victor's hands shook as he opened the folded leather, pulling out his bank card. He clenched it tight between his fingers, careful not to let it fall, and pushed it into the machine. His hand hovered momentarily over the keypad, unsure, when CB's head rested against Victor's shoulder, his hands smoothing along Victor's pockets again.

This time his sugar baby pulled their bodies slightly away from the ATM, cupping Victor firmly, tracing the outline of his erection with lazy fingertips. Victor moaned at the touch, his face going flush when he looked up to see the security camera lens looking back at him.

"Hurry, Victor. You're making me wait again."

Stricken, Victor punched in his pin and the desired amount. Then, after a few shuffling sounds, the money flew out with a loud click.

"Oh, good boy, Victor. I knew you'd do it." CB leant against him again, reaching forward, grabbing the money and stuffing it somewhere out of Victor's sightline. "You're so hard. We should handle this privately."

CB pushed him to walk again. They didn't go far, just passed some vending machines, before turning into the dark hallway marked Restrooms. Guided into a men's stall, Victor turned around and was immediately backed against the wall, legs spreading over the toilet.

Hovering close, CB unzipped his slacks and got him started, pulling his cock out and giving it a few strokes, humming when it strained against his palm. He grabbed Victor's hand and made it clear that Victor should stroke himself. He did. CB leaned against the door to watch.

"Really, Victor?" CB said, shaking his head. "Giving me money turns you on that much? That's kind of pathetic. But fine, I'll watch your vulgar little show. Because you've paid me and I want more of what's in that thick wallet of yours."

Victor continued, his emotions swirling somewhere between arousal and the fervent desire to run away, tail tucked between his legs.

It seemed to go on forever, and maybe it actually did because CB's dark eyes kept skipping between his Apple watch and Victor's cock, both unhelpful hands otherwise tucked out of sight in jacket pockets.

"How long are you going to jack off?" CB finally huffed at him. "I thought for sure you were a minute man."

And then again, after a few more frenzied strokes, "Victor, I really don't have the time for this. Or the patience."

But Victor couldn't come. The toilet paper scraps next to his shoe and the overwhelming smell of cheap cleaning products did nothing to push him anywhere near the direction of an orgasm.

With another huff, CB approached him, turning him around, and coaxed him back against the wall with firm hands on his shoulders. It was awkward with his pants hanging and the toilet bowl in the way, but he faced the tile wall without stumbling too much.

"Do it harder." CB said, breathlessly  issuing his command in a way that relaxed Victor again. "Like that. Now faster."

It was better like this. With CB behind him and hot against his ear, it was easier to ignore the surroundings and just focus on the sensations of CB's heat against his back.

"You're a pretty thing, Victor, and very rich." He pressed in, impossibly close. "I'd like to own you for a little while. Own you completely."

There was something about this that did it for him, but Victor didn't have time to unpack it because then CB said, "Come, Victor. Come. I want to see you shake." And Victor came gasping, spurts of white clinging to the tile and chrome flushing apparatus.

CB's hands trailed down Victor's back as he panted out heavy breaths. "Oh, Victor, you poor, pathetic thing. I can't believe you, paying to get off in a public bathroom. Everyone could hear your moans." He checked his watch screen again. "I really hope you have more control next time. Message me, I'll set something up."

With that, CB left, allowing the stall door to swing open. Victor moved quickly and awkwardly to shut it before anyone saw his ass. He listened for sounds of other people in the restroom, but there were none. Either that or he couldn't hear them over blood pounding in his ears.

After several minutes to collect himself and ensure no one was in the restroom, he stumbled out of the stall and hunched over one of the sinks in front of a utilitarian mirror. He shoved his hands under the faucet, washing them thoroughly with soap, before realizing there were no paper towels. Sighing in some sort of defeat, he slumped back against the sink, dripping hands gripping the edge. He didn't recognize himself. 

He was scared of this version of himself--this 'Victor' who was a little bit of a freak, getting off in a dirty toilet stall when some stranger took his money and said "Come."

"Calm down," he said into the empty echo of restroom. "Sort it through."

Feelings: confused.

He shuttered. There was just so much. His eyes clenched tight and he tried again, focusing on his brief, erratic time with CB.

Feelings: intrigued, good, awkward, desired, aroused, small, pathetic, embarrassed, used, confused.

Confused.

Because how could being used, being made to feel small and pathetic, have felt so good at times? And yet not all the time.

Victor liked what happened at the ATM. He liked being shoved into it, feeling hands on him out in the open, his wallet being accosted as much as his body. All of that was fine. Better than fine.

But what happened afterwards, in the bathroom stall behind him? That was different. Some of it was ok, and some of it not, crossing an arbitrary line Victor didn't know he'd drawn and could no longer find.

A man came in and used the stall closest to the door. He washed his hands meticulously and set a pair of glasses on the edge of another sink before bending further to splash water on his face. Turning away, towards the paper towel dispenser, he muttered a soft curse when he realized, much as Victor had, that it was empty. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, but instead of wiping the moisture off his hands, he paused and looked at Victor with concern in his eyes..

"Are you all right?"

Victor looked at the handkerchief. It was red and orange plaid with a little acorn embroidered on the corner, truly darling.

"Oh. You want to use this?" He flounced the handkerchief. "It's clean, I haven't used it yet."

Without thinking, Victor reached out his hand, taking the scrap of fabric in his stiff fingers, his 'thank you' equally mechanical.

Victor followed the line of the stranger's arm as he took the proffered plaid. His skin was fair with warm undertones, they wore a dove gray hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, zipped all the way to the top of a raised collar.

The stranger watched Victor with a tilted chin as he slowly dried his hands with the handkerchief. He'd never considered carrying one before, but it worked far better than he'd expected. Perhaps he should start carrying one of his own; it would've been useful when he was wiping away gobs of cum earlier.

He grimaced inwardly. 

 _No. That was a one time thing. There's absolutely no need to acquire emergency handjob cleanup accessories_ , he promised himself, while simultaneously wondering over the absorbency of silk.

The man leaned towards him, "Seriously, are you ok?"

When Victor raised his eyes, an elusive feeling of recognition flashed. This man was Asian too, but he had a kind face, soft brown eyes large with concern, and little indents on the bridge of his nose from his glasses. Cute. And familiar.

Oh.

"Aren't you AlwaysDancing?" Victor said in a rush.

"What?"

Was he wrong?

"The dancer, from Cal, right?" He handed the handkerchief back, but the man was silent and seemed confused.

"Sorry, never mind." Victor would've sworn up and down this was one of the three he'd messaged earlier.

"No, you're right, just..." he looked around the room awkwardly as he tucked the damp plaid square away, now a lump in his pocket.

Victor laughed, the sound strange and loud against the hard angles of the room.

"What?" AlwaysDancing asked again, putting his glasses on.

"I was going to say fancy meeting you here, but..." he gestured the restroom as they headed out the door, "there's nothing fancy about any of this."

They exited the restroom together into a darkened hallway that wasn't any cleaner than the bathrooms, littered as it was with trash cans and mop buckets. This whole sordid section of the outlets was at odds with their promise of luxury.

"Not exactly where I imagined meeting you, you know?" Victor admitted. Nothing today had gone as expected.

AlwaysDancing made a strange face. "You wanted to meet me?"

"Yes? Didn't you get my messages?" They blinked at one another. He tried again. "I'm Victor? The doctor from San Francisco...?"

It was clear from the dazed look on his face that AlwaysDancing had in fact not received Victor's messages; it was clear the younger man didn't know him from Adam.

"I wanted to know if you were free tonight?" Finding a date had seemed so important this morning, but now he wondered if he should even bother. What were the chances of meeting the love of your life in a bathroom?

AlwaysDancing opened his mouth but then closed it, not saying anything as they walked through the crowd, the bustle of shoppers with their large paper bags and strollers making up an ambient background. Victor tried to be patient, to give them both a minute to mentally catch up. It didn't help that this place was like a maze, repetitious to the point that it was disorienting. He needed to focus on something, then remembered he'd parked by the tea shop, his eyes seeking out red umbrellas as he kept pace.

Should he keep following? The man was so quiet that Victor wasn't sure if he was making him uncomfortable. That was the last thing he wanted. As they passed a succession of brand name bargain shops, one after another, the cadence of their steps became a solid beat that steadied him. Victor swallowed his indecision and decided to go for it. Worst case scenario, he never saw this man again, which would be a shame given how cute he was, but there was no real loss in the grand scheme of things.

"My best friend's boyfriend whisked him away to Paris for a surprise long weekend. I have an extra ticket and thought you might like to go, if you're free tonight." Victor made an attempt at nonchalance, shrugging as if he wasn't desperate for the company and a comfortable conversation. "That was it, really."

AlwaysDancing looked up, his blue-rimmed glasses glinting in the sunlight. He still looked a bit confused, but more settled. "Who's performing?"

Victor tried not to get too excited. "It's Halsey, do you know her?"

AlwaysDancing squinted at him like he had fifteen heads. "Who doesn't know Halsey?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me reading fic:  
> I hate when Victor is with anyone other than Yuuri. It's cursed.
> 
> Me writing fic:  
> I'm fucking cursed now.  
> Next up, Yuuri veers down an unexpected path while on a road trip of his own.


	3. Sinking into Sweet Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri learns to play along, even though he doesn’t know the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while. If I said I was chasing the music, would you understand? ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Housing in Berkeley is so expensive most students live in co-ops, or cooperative housing, like Kingman Hall. Think extremely bohemian dormitory.

Wedged between JJ and Phichit in the backseat of Leo's yellow Ford Focus, the part of Yuuri that recoiled from physical touch questioned if this road trip was a good idea. His anxiety, too, was having a field day with it. He'd left a mountain of responsibilities back in Berkeley and his brain was having no trouble coming up with endless scenarios as to how and why this trip would come to some sort of reckoning. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but somewhere down the line.

Phichit's arm snaked over Yuuri to fiddle with Leo's phone which was resting in the middle console, tethered to the radio by a cable. Leo smacked at Phichit's hands. "No way, Peach." Leo said, one hand at the bottom of the steering wheel, the other passing his still-connected phone to Guang Hong in the front seat. "My car, my music."

No one trusted Phichit's playlists. They were all rambunctious Thai, flourishing musical numbers, gangster rap, or the nastiest R&B any of them had ever heard. Phichit's goodie-two-shoes look was just that, a look. One he wore a little too well.

Leo turned up his preferred Soul music, the singer's voice low and throaty. Yuuri tried to get comfortable between the song's warbling embrace and the press of his roommates' bodies, but it was useless. This was definitely a mistake, but his friendships were always like this--full of strong personalities that pushed him along, usually for the better, even if the ride was uncomfortable.

Just two months ago, Yuuri was the odd man out. Well, he and Seung Gil, he supposed. Phichit and Leo got along with everyone, Guang Hong followed Leo like a puppy, and JJ elbowed his way into everything 'JJ style.' Although that was like the pot calling the kettle black, since Yuuri had basically strong-armed his way into their group as well.

Left behind after his friends graduated the previous year, he’d taken up the role of despondent loner until the co-op's Welcoming Ritual. The name was silly but the entire event was a faithful recital of classic American collegiate lore, mirroring images Yuuri had seen when researching 'college life in the USA.' Students swathed in sheets for togas pressing pierced Pabst Blue Ribbon beer cans to their lips, the whole fizzing thing drunk in half a minute.

Their rowdy drinking party devolved further, if possible, into a savage MMORPG fest. No one knew who started it, but they all knew who finished it. And none suspected that Yuuri, quiet, serious, introverted-to-a-fault Yuuri, winner of the newly founded Kingman Hall Welcome Ritual Games, could throw insults so dirty.

Leo declared that warm September night, and for weeks afterward, that 'Pabst Blue Ribbon Yuuri' was what the world needed. Phichit had forgiven him for calling him a hamster-fucker. Guang Hong accepted his apologies gracefully, assuring his insults were taken in good fun. Seung Gil, who moved out shortly afterward, said he gave as good as he got. And JJ? Well, JJ was pissed.

He took things to a whole new level and flat out refused to say two words to him that weren't absolute heinous teasing until just last week. What Yuuri did or didn't remember apparently meant nothing. JJ wouldn't repeat whatever PBR Yuuri had said no matter how much Yuuri tried. It thankfully dropped off after reaching near epic proportions around the end of midterms in October.

Stealing a glance at his one time 'mortal enemy,' he saw that JJ was thoroughly engrossed in a text chain from his long distance girlfriend, Isabella. Yuuri looked away immediately. He'd played the unintentional voyeur to their colorful conversations too many times over the last three months, as JJ tended to take over an alcove near the 3rd floor bathroom after 10pm, and Yuuri showered at night, before bed, unlike so many of the other students he lived with.

How they slept in their own filth like that he would never understand. It was one of the many cultural differences incomprehensible to him, like the way soda was served in buckets so big you could accidentally drown in them, or how everyone wore the same shoes indoors, outdoors, and into the toilets. America, land of strange, unacknowledged affinities such as type two diabetes and bacteria on every--

Phichit laughed then at something on Twitter, jolting him out of his daze. Yuuri watched as his friend rapidly replied in Thai, checked his email, then continued adding to his pamphlet design for the Fall Choreography Showcase. The pamphlet wasn't part of Phichit's coursework, he'd volunteered to get to know the Dance instructors. Yuuri spied his name among the list dancers. It felt so odd to see it there.

Yuuri sometimes felt completely separate from his friends, out of place and just lucky to be included. The Dance program was highly competitive and required a certain amount of social skill that was completely foreign to Yuuri, but was as easy to the others as breathing. Phichit, in particular, was the type to succeed in any environment. He would do well in the professional dance world, where charm and charisma were tangible, marketable things.

Yuuri felt fortunate to have a second degree to fall back on.

 

After six hours of being crammed into cars, twenty-seven ragtag members from Yuuri's university dance groups, Ballet Company of Berkeley and Main Stacks Urban Dance Team, finally arrived at the Los Angeles Ballet practice hall. Yuuri had sent his friend Minami a text when they were ten minutes away, and he was waiting to greet them at the side entrance, stumbling out of his standing split stretch to run towards Yuuri. He didn’t even look put out about the number of people milking his connection.

" _Yuuri-kun! You came!_ " Minami said with a shout, his grin huge.

"English, Minami." Yuuri didn't know what else to say, unsure how to handle this level of enthusiasm in person.

" _I'm tired of English._ " He said conspiratorially in their mother tongue. " _But fine_. Thanks for coming, Yuuri!"

Minami Kenjirou was from Fukuoka, the city closest to Yuuri's hometown of Hasetsu, Japan. They'd started talking on an online dance forum and promised to meet up if Minami also made it to the US. He'd made it all right. At 17, after a few months at a topnotch ballet school in Seattle, Minami managed to secure the sole apprenticeship available at L.A.B.

He looked surprisingly well, excited and full of energy. Not worn down or filled with anxious dread like Yuuri had expected. The kid was really something.

Minami, or Kenji as everyone called him here in the States, introduced himself to the groups before leading them inside.

The practice room looked like a refurbished warehouse, a huge open space with black sprung floors, white walls, silver flashing and wood beams for the ceiling. Across all of this, various black painted utility connections striped across this way and that, as if they were an afterthought and only tacked on later.

There were twenty or so dancers already in this space, all looking over as Yuuri’s group more than doubled the number of bodies. After a moment of quiet, as brief as if a bird had flown in and then right back out again, the professionals returned to their work. _Danseuse_ in soft pink pointe shoes and _danseurs_ in nude split soles warmed up at the barre on three sides of the room, the lone mirrored side kept free so everyone could observe their lines. Well, until their entrance blocked off half the room. Minami stopped by a black upright piano in a corner close to the mirrors.

"Olivia," Minami said to a brunette woman busy fingering the keys, "these are my practice students, ok?"

Other than the monthly community outreach, LAB's classes were closed. Without Minami's express invitation they'd be booted. Hell, they probably wouldn’t have made it through the door.

"So many?" Olivia asked, obviously put out by the crowd.

Yuuri hadn't meant to invite _so many_ , but by the time everyone met up at the Trader Joe's across the street, he realized four more cars’ worth of Cal dancers were coming along to this class because of someone's big mouth. He gave a look of apology to the apprentice, then shot another very different look at Phichit. Phichit eyeballed over to a guilty-looking Guang Hong, who caught their looks and indicated JJ. But JJ shook his head and tilted his chin towards that asshole senior who always snubbed Yuuri. Forget the lineup, might as well put them all on a chain-gang; every one of them was guilty.

Not that it mattered because Minami simply chirped, "I know! Isn't it great!" Oblivious to Olivia’s concern. Or was he? Yuuri was starting to distrust the cheerful ones.

"Right. Well, maybe it's for the best. A realistic class size."

Minami nodded at her, looking a little crazed.

"Ok, take them into the second hall. Teach them the part we discussed and I'll come in to evaluate when I have a moment."

With that, Olivia waved them onward. Minami walked them through a pair of doors into another white room.

A few dancers were stretching with bands in the space, which seemed like it was primarily used to store larger pieces of the sets, if the gingerbread houses and twelve foot candy canes stacked in corners were any indication.

Minami puffed out his chest and gave a determined look.

"All right, so I'm supposed to teach an outreach class in a couple weeks and I've never taught adults, which means you're all going to be my guinea pigs!” He smiled with glee, clearly liking the idea of being in charge. “First things first, stretch well. I’ll be walking around so you can show me how bendy you can be!”

Everyone pulled off their shoes and slipped on a pair of split soles with various fasteners, materials, and colors. Yuuri favored black leather slippers with cross elastics, as they were the most durable and least likely to show the inevitable wear and tear.

Guang Hong’s pale nude canvas slippers came into view as he chose the spot next to Yuuri, likely so he could ask, “Hey we didn’t get Kenji in trouble, right? People just got curious since you were missing Stacks practice, and once they found out why...”

“Everyone wanted in.” Yuuri finished. “I get it. We didn’t get kicked out so it’s fine. I’m not mad.”

He’d learned to be very direct with Guang Hong, as his friend was one of those people who needed to be ‘ok’ with everyone at all times and required constant reassurance that this was the case.

Fortunately his tactics worked and Guang Hong looked relieved. Yuuri wished he could feel anything akin to relief. This place just drummed up his nerves, even though the atmosphere differed from the halls he fled in Tokyo.

There was only one portable barre setup here, and several L.A.B. dancers were coming in and out of the main hall to use it, so the Berkeley students kept most of their warm-up to the floor. Yuuri, for his part, tried to shut everything out and just stretch. His muscles heating up pleasantly as he ran through the groups, paying special attention to his feet. When he moved to the barre, he his raised foot until his leg curved into a desirable s-curve.

“Yuuri! Oh my God, your lines!” Minami looked close to tears. “They’re ten—no—twenty times more beautiful in person!”

Smiling, Yuuri nodded. He was uncomfortable with the attention, but he’d take that compliment. They were quite good for a nonprofessional, his dedication scrawled along his lean build and the curvature of his insteps for anyone fluent enough to read them.

Minami knew this language of lines just as well as Yuuri did, truly. He missed nothing and put the less experienced dance group members, particularly the Stacks boys, through their paces.

“Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy!” He clapped each word out between small hands. “How am I supposed to work with these flopping feet?” Then, “No, don’t start clenching your toes! You know better than that. Now fix your feet.”

By the end of their practice run-throughs, only Yuuri had been spared. His friend had obviously given him a pass, and Yuuri wasn't sure he should be grateful considering this was a class and he'd come to learn, not to be cosseted. His jumps were too loud, and when partnered he'd allowed one of the spins to unravel prematurely. But Minami knew his history. He probably didn't want to put Yuuri off ballet again with too much criticism.

Quiet and off to the side, Olivia stretched with a footstool by a stack of prop presents wrapped in shiny paper and large red bows. Yuuri felt her eyes on him, felt that strange pressure go deep inside, pressed against his spine like an overly friendly cat. Expected but not entirely welcome.

He wanted to shy away from such eyes, owned by those so fluent they invented new language themselves. New methods and techniques. He was an amateur among masters here, just as before. Just as always. And this pressure he could do without.

It was why he left Japan--the dissection, the control. He had to look a certain way, weigh a certain weight, dance a certain style, with a specific expression, and he just couldn’t keep up, couldn’t measure up. He returned home a disappointment, then fled the country as quickly and quietly as he could manage after graduation, .

Even in his hours of pitch black disillusionment, when he'd all but given up his dream, the yearning he felt to dance would not cease. It nagged and nudged, pulling at places more uncomfortable than any scrutinizing gaze. His whole life up to this point was wrapped up in dance, and eventually the string he'd spun into knots stretched taut, ready to pull him apart.

‘If I don't think about it right now, I won’t break and it'll be ok.’

Dance had built him up, but it was also the force that seemed most poised to tear him apart. By keeping this mindset, he had, to varying degrees of success, allowed himself to keep his anxiety at bay in moments of stillness when dance was neither friend nor an escape. 

Unfortunately that option wasn't available to him right now, not with the price of his failure staring him in the face like this. Olivia invited them to watch the company's final Nutcracker run-through before breaking for lunch, and Yuuri watched, guts twisting, as everything he'd ever wanted for himself play out in front of him in this ballet warehouse.

Even without the contribution of scenery, costumes, and makeup, their performance mesmerized. Their light steps were so softly executed they came across as effortless. But Yuuri knew better. He knew what to look for, painfully, fluently aware. He could see the strain of their thighs, arms, and backs. The sweat collecting along their hairlines and upper lips.

There was beauty in their secret struggle. Untold hours had been spent on every lilt and sway, each hold, each lift a complex battery of body lines and angles, practiced repeatedly until the equation of their bodies in motion got the total sum of the performance right.

When Minami shyly asked what he thought of it so far, there could be only one answer: Amazing.

Yuuri wondered when this gnawing inadequacy would leave him. Would he always feel sinking regret for not continuing to pursue ballet professionally, though it was the only love he'd ever known?

He kept his panic simmering low, below the surface, pushing it down through their goodbyes as they left the studio. There were exchanges of social media names and promises to follow everyone back on Instagram once he got home, even if they were just saying so to be kind. 

He pushed it down as they drove to Anaheim, and as they picked up a drive-thru lunch, and in the elevator to the 11th floor hotel room he'd share with Phichit and some of the guys in the group.

Yuuri jumped in the shower as soon as they got to the room, not giving anyone even a moment's chance to try and grab it first. But he couldn't relax, despite the spray, not as long as he knew somewhere just beyond the wall at least one of his roommates was surely wishing he'd hurry it up. He got out and tugged on clothes, his spot in the shower being claimed within seconds. His remaining roommates were complaining about being sweaty and sore, going on ad nauseam about the performance and critique they'd been lucky enough to see.

When he didn't join in, they tried to draw him into their conversation with jibes about his impressive lines and how they were 'ten--no--twenty times more beautiful in person.'

It was too much, more than he could possibly handle in this claustrophobic little room, too small to hold all the frustrations he'd pent up. He dashed out, muttering about going for run.

Phichit knew better than to follow. No one else would have cared to try.

 

He didn’t know the roads so he’d stayed near the hotel, using its height advantage as a landmark, running first towards the interstate, near the UC Irvine medical building. That had given him too much to think about, already a wreck from this morning’s ballet affair. He didn’t need to add in anxiety over med school applications right now. Would he even get an interview? He sucked at interviews.

Suddenly there was a bakery in front of him, because that was just what he needed, right? Six more months and he could eat whatever, but not now. Please not now. He veered south, bursting nearly into traffic, where he could see the outlets in the distance. He hadn’t realized they were so close.

He ran around them, able to let his mind wander freely without having to worry about getting lost as he circled the buildings. It wasn't a permanent solution, but if he could find even an hour or two of relief, he'd take it. He didn't let up until his bladder demanded a trip to the restroom.

The cool water from the tap felt so incredibly good on Yuuri's heated face. His run had been fast-paced from the onset, feet pounding hard, running until his legs were loose and shaky. It always felt good to run ragged like that.

Swiping his wet fringe up, off his face, he reached for paper towels that weren't there. “ _Of course_ ,” he said under his breath in Japanese, 4000% over it.

He got out his handkerchief, but paused as he noticed a man leaning over one of the sinks. He looked like a model. Tall, beautiful, tormented, and also somewhat familiar. Yuuri couldn't quite place him. Maybe he really was famous?

"Are you ok?" He offered. It wasn't much, but despite two years at the Theatre and Dance, and countless hours spent learning to mimic an array of emotions, he was still pretty bad at dealing with people experiencing them. Or even himself when he experienced them, if he were being honest.

And this person looked like he'd received terrible news he couldn't handle.

What would Yuuri want someone to do when the weight of something terrible was burden enough to stop him in his tracks? When he couldn't run or dance his way to ok?

The beautiful stranger turned and just stared at him. No, at his handkerchief. His hands sparkled a little too, like they were wet.

Yuuri shook out his handkerchief from its compact square with a pathetic feeling like 'this is all I can do for you' and offered it up. Most people would probably do nothing. Actually was this rude?

But soon the man was using his handkerchief and introducing himself as a doctor who knew Yuuri. He couldn't place him, this Victor from San Francisco. Surely he'd remember if he'd met someone this hot? He wasn't _that_ oblivious...was he?

Because Victor was gorgeous. Yuuri thought he understood that already, but then he put his glasses on and got hit with the full force of the man's beauty. His brain swirled, not really taking in much of what he was saying, still in overdrive from his anxiety attack. And did he mention that Victor was really gorgeous? Surely no one could blame him for being a bit punch drunk just at the sight of him.

He was even more surprised when Victor hadn't just exited the restroom with him, but continued to walk beside him, saying something about boyfriends and getting ditched, and hey they should go to a concert together! A Halsey concert, of all things.

It took a while before Yuuri found his voice.

“You know when you said concert, I thought you meant like a symphony or an orchestral performance.”

Victor stopped scanning the surroundings and looked to Yuuri, “You're not the first to say that. Do I really look so uptight?”

“No.” Yuuri said quickly. “Well, uptight isn't the right word. More like...” he tilted his head, searching for the proper nuance, “elegant?”

Victor beamed. “Wow, really?”

He looked at Victor, with his giant, heart-shaped smile. Something was just off about him. Yuuri realized it was his complexion. "You still look really pale."

Victor started for a moment before nodding. "Honestly something's not quite... right," He sounded a bit breathless. "I feel kind of dizzy."

Yuuri wondered if that was really all, but kept his hypotheses to himself, instead asking, "Are you here with anyone?" Victor shook his head. "Do you want to call someone?” Another head shake.

"No, no." Victor waved that idea away. "I'm sorry, I'm fine. I just skipped lunch so my blood sugar's low."

Victor was wearing brand new dress shoes and a button-down shirt, so it was unlikely that he’d run here the way Yuuri had. Which meant he likely drove and Yuuri didn’t think Victor should operate a vehicle in this state.

"When did you last eat?" He stalled.

"Umm... around eight."

Yuuri rolled his eyes. "It's three-thirty."

"I just... forgot."

“So careless. Are you actually a doctor or do you just play one on TV?”

Victor laughed, like that was a joke. "I'm much better at taking care of other people, apparently."

"Hmm..." If he were honest, Yuuri would admit that he was terrible at both self-care and caring for others. But he could try. "I was on my way to get a smoothie. You should come too, before you pass out."

 

Soon after, they were sucked into the lime and orange vortex of Jamba Juice, waiting in line just inside the door.

“What do you usually get here?” Victor asked, eyes glazing over the menu boards.

“The Kale-rribean Breeze.” Ugh. Why did they all have such lame names? “Umm... it’s kale with mango and yogurt.”

“Hmm... I’m not too into kale actually.”

Yuuri frowned. “Yeah, I’m not exactly ‘into kale’ either, but...” he gestured his stomach, “strict dancer diet.”

“Oh, that I can understand.”

Understand what? That every day was a grind laden with opportunities to self-sabotage? That his life had long become a side-scrolling video game where the world kept coming at him and if he stopped moving, he'd be pushed off the edge to his doom? That living in perpetual motion for several years like this was exhausting and he just wanted to lie in bed and drown his sorrows in leftover Halloween candy, but instead he swallowed pulverized kale greens and fat-free, taste-free yogurt because binge eating was a slippery slope and he packed on kilos like a snowball going downhill? That he would give anything just to—

“You don’t get a glorious body like yours eating junk.”

Yuuri’s mouth fell open. Who had a glorious body? Surely... surely he’d misheard.

“I’m not as young as I used to be so I have to watch out, too. Extra weight is so much more stubborn to take off now.” Victor grimaced, then traded his sour look for a smile. “Luckily I haven’t eaten much today, so I’m getting a smoothie bowl!”

And wow did he ever. After Victor insisted on paying, Yuuri quickly ushered him into a seat, then went to the pick-up counter to retrieve his humdrum drink and the biggest Energy Bowl Yuuri had ever seen. The cut fruit, coconut flakes, seeds, granola, and chocolate nibs nearly spilled over the side because Victor insisted on extra everything.

“Wow this looks amazing!” Victor cheered as Yuuri cautiously set his eighth wonder of the world on their table.

Armed with an orange plastic spoon, Victor dug in like he hadn’t eaten for days. Color started coming back to his cheeks and nose as he waxed poetic about the vibrant hot pink hue of the pitaya smoothie base. He’d eaten all the toppings first, the way some people ate katsudon, finishing the pork cutlet and leaving most of the rice.

“Fuchsia’s definitely one of my top five favorite colors.” Victor said, eating smaller bites of the smoothie.

“Beautiful,” Yuuri found himself agreeing, a little too focused on Victor’s mouth.

“Have you ever danced in fuchsia?”

“Umm... No, I haven’t.” He tended to wear a lot of black, gray, and blue. Dark, masculine colors.

“That’s a shame. You’d look so good in it too, with your black hair and gorgeous skin. I’d love to see it.”

Yuuri felt his face go fuchsia, as if to prove Victor wrong.

“Although you’d look good in almost anything,” Victor continued, gesturing up and down Yuuri’s body with his orange spoon.

What was happening here? He couldn’t figure it out at all. He knew this man from somewhere, and Victor knew him as well. Was he part of the UC San Francisco med school program Yuuri had applied to in July? On the board of one of his scholarship programs? A ballet aficionado or dance enthusiast? Or maybe a university donor?

He could be any of the above? Or all of the above.

Yuuri pushed his glasses further up his nose. Rationally, he knew he needed to navigate this situation with care. If Victor really was some kind of VIP, Yuuri could put himself in an even more precarious situation by making an ass out of himself. And he had an unfortunate gift for showing his ass at inopportune times.

“Oh, are you being shy?” Victor gave up a bright, cupid’s bow grin, shaking his head side to side a couple times. “You’re so cute!”

Yuuri hid in his hands. How was he supposed to think rationally when Victor was being all beautiful and complimentary, making him fall to fluster?

“Now I really want to see it.” Victor’s voice seemed closer, “I could get something commissioned.”

“No no no no no!” Yuuri waved his hands around wildly. “You don’t have to do that!”

"But I want to." Victor tipped his head to the side reminding Yuuri strongly of an overgrown puppy.

"I-I might be able to borrow something," he relented.

“Custom made will be so much better, though. I have a vision in my mind. Definitely something tight to show off those powerful legs of yours, and a lot of sparkle. Where do you usually get your costumes made?” Then, before he could answer, “Oh my God, do you think I could help design it? I’d be so good at that!”

Victor was offering to... wow.

Yuuri hid behind his hands again as the gears in his head turned and clicked. It occurred to him that he’d been going about this all wrong. That he could be smart, like Phichit, and turn this friendly banter into an opportunity. Network a little. Maybe stack the deck in his favor, although it would be helpful if he could figure out exactly which deck it was.

There were no answers written on the palms of his hands. Peeking through his fingers, he saw Victor’s smile, perfect, pink, and brighter than pitaya. Yuuri felt it beckon to him with some unknown force urging him to just _leap_. 

He didn't know what he'd gotten into, but he wanted to find out.

He took a steadying breath and folded his hands tight in his lap so he wouldn't be tempted to shield himself again, then looked Victor in the eyes, his smile coming easier than he expected.

“Victor, that sounds amazing, really.” It did. “But it’s after four. What time is your concert?”

“Oh.” Victor huffed, looking deflated. “It’s at seven. VIP check in starts at six, though.”

VIP? How fitting. He smiled a little, just for himself.

“Then I really need to start getting ready if I'm going to join you. Would you mind giving me a lift?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday Victor!  
> °(^♡\\\\\\)° 
> 
> Next up, an actual date, Yuuri trying to play it cool, and a lot of annoying roommates. (Can you imagine living with JJ? Pining JJ? My God. End me.)


	4. Baby, You’re Never Fully Dressed without a Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First dates are always a little nerve-wracking. Yuuri wouldn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dwinelle Hall is a maze of a building at U.C. Berkeley.
> 
> Ridge is another co-operative house.
> 
> Purell is a brand name hand sanitizer.

Yuuri really needed more than an hour to prepare himself for this networking... concert... date... _thing_. Ten minutes to shower and dress, double that to play private investigator, and the rest set aside for absolute, unrestrained panic. A familiar, anxious rush already hummed along his veins, descending as sure as the low-slung sun.

Normal people didn't need to pencil in a minor panic attack, but Yuuri had never considered himself as such. If he weren't such a mess, getting ready for a fun night out would be more relaxed, maybe even enjoyable. It must be convenient to be a normal person, with a normal amount of worries.

Just last weekend, Phichit had dedicated a made-up song to _Yuuri, God of Love_ on his hairbrush-turned-microphone as he got ready for his date with one of Yuuri's lab partners. At the same time, JJ had been humming as he ironed an ornate printed button-down, ready to 'rock the stage' at a charity date auction. Both of his roommates had been smiling and fearless, and completely unrelatable.

Yuuri could only imagine feeling such ease. His mind frequently traded anticipation for anxiety, an assault of blurred edges and terrifying promises. Each prospective future would churn inside him, forming a massive whirlpool of what-ifs.

Victor was such a complete unknown to him and Yuuri's mind was already shifting to accommodate more and more of those what-ifs as they trickled in. He'd need more than a handful of minutes to sort through them all, so the sooner he got back to his hotel room, the better. 

His phone suddenly went off in his zippered side pocket, causing him to jump and smack the underside of the table with his knees, nearly upending it.

"Call?" Victor asked, appearing altogether cool and unbothered, like Yuuri hadn't almost made him wear the uneaten slush left in his bowl.

Yuuri attempted to turn off the incessant buzzing through the pilly fabric of his joggers, but couldn't quite manage it. He finally gave in and just pulled his phone out, only to be met with a deluge of notifications.

"Texts actually. Umm, lots of them." They kept coming with the kind of rapid-fire delivery that happened when your glitchy, piece of crap phone arbitrarily abandoned service and then picked it up again.

"Wow, did you drop your phone down a garbage disposal?" 

He flicked through his lock screen, ignoring Victor's blunt observation. He wasn't far off.

Yuuri's parents had already pre-ordered a new phone for his birthday, twenty-five days away and counting. But longer lead times pushed that to a slow, torturous kind of counting, like when JJ insisted on singing _Ninety-nine Bottles of Pop on the Wall_ , drunk and off-key, all the way through. Family tradition, JJ said, regaling anyone who would listen with stories of a dozen Leroys, spreading their gift of song across Canada on frequent homeschooling field trips.

 _Pure torture_.

Yuuri's scrap metal continued to vibrate, the latest incoming text from Leo.

>>Can you text Phichit back? He's about to get your embassy involved.

He was probably joking, as Phichit wasn't nearly that dramatic, but Leo rarely asked for anything.

"Do you mind if I...?" Yuuri asked, hands already poised to respond. He'd almost forgotten that some people got really put off when ignored for a phone.

"Not at all." Victor said, then got out his sleek iPhone X and opened... yeah that was definitely a Candy Crush app.

So Victor was the kind of guy who used a thousand dollar phone to play Candy Crush. He looked so serious about it, too, chewing his lip as his fingers tapped and swiped. It was oddly endearing, akin to watching a Hollywood starlet's toddler learn to walk in head to toe Gucci and a real diamond tiara. Cute and ridiculous, if a little--”

The buzz of Phichit's texts went off again and again.

Distracted, Yuuri hadn't even decided what to say to him in the first place, and there was a backlog of unread texts to deal with, too.

>> Wrap up ur run, we're ready 2go  
>> U lost or is ur ph all janky again?  
>> Srsly ru lost?? I can help  
>> Anaheim < Dwinelle hall  
>> Ok I kno ballet gets u like this but can u plz txt me back  
>> Im worried  
>> Really worried  
>> BEEN 3HRS YUURI  
>> WHERE RU??

All caps? Yikes. Then, another buzz.

>> DONT LEAVE ME ON READ BOI !!!!

<< Sorry. @ outlets. jamba juice  
>> omw  
<< I was just heading back  
>> O! M! W!  
>> Eta 4m  
<< Got it

Yuuri sighed. "Sorry about that. My roommate was looking for me, I guess? He's on his way here so I kind of have to wait?"

"That's fine, we have plenty of time," Victor said, putting down his phone to focus on Yuuri instead of shiny, rendered candy. "So, what are you guys doing in Anaheim?" 

It was the only normal thing Victor had said besides asking about Yuuri's usual drink order.

"Oh, someone I know actually got the apprentice spot at L.A. Ballet." 

That was a very big deal, but Victor didn't light up at this or make any appreciative comments. Perhaps he didn't care for the L.A. company and was too polite to say? Although Yuuri couldn't imagine why. 

"It's that time of year, so they're rehearsing the Nutcracker now." 

Again, Victor said nothing, not rolling off an 'of course,' or bringing up another company's performance he may've attended or preferred. Which probably meant he wasn't in the ballet world at all. Huh. Yuuri would have to keep that in mind.

"Usually their rehearsals are closed, but they needed volunteers to test out a new class. My roommates and their friends from our dance group decided to make a road trip of it. The class was this morning and we're sticking around here to go to Disney tomorrow." He sighed a little, trying not to dwell on a whole weekend of studying lost. "It's Dapper Day."

"Dapper Day?" Victor asked.

 _This_ caught his attention?

"It's an event where people dress up in vintage styles and go to Disney to take pictures."

"Really!" Victor said, his perfect, white teeth on display. "So you're going to dress up?"

"Yeah. Phichit, um, my text-happy roommate, is putting me in some newsboy outfit he borrowed from the theater. You know, like shorts and suspenders and a cap?"

Victor's eyes sparkled. "Cute!"

No, Victor was cute. Way cuter than any version of Yuuri in any outfit could ever be. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling dry despite his recently consumed smoothie. He kept talking anyway, nervous but eager to see Victor light up again--it just did things to him.

"I think JJ, my other roommate, is wearing a zoot suit, and Guang Hong and Leo said something about Derby style, whatever that is. I don't really know what the other guys are doing."

"Wow, how many roommates do you have?"

 As if answering Victor's call, Phichit and JJ, along with Leo, Guang Hong, Harold, and Javier walked in and immediately converged on their table.

"Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri!" Phichit crooned, leaning over at an awkward angle to wrap his arms around Yuuri's shoulders. "I'm so glad you're not tied up in Tia-juana!"

"Tijuana?" Yuuri caught Leo rolling his eyes. "Did I miss something?"

Because that would be one hell of a jog.

"He looked up 'lost in Anaheim' and read some scary news story about human trafficking." Guang Hong filled him in.

"Oh,"Yuuri said, hand hovering uncertainly over Phichit's back a moment before he gave a few comforting pats. "Phichit, I'm fine. I don't even know why you'd worry about that kind of thing."

Phichit pulled away to yell, "Because you always wear headphones, and you don't know the area, and your phone's broke, and you're really pretty for a guy!"

Yuuri didn't know what to say to that, so he repeated, "I'm fine."

"Don't worry, I wouldn't let some cartel steal him away from me." Victor said with a fair measure of bluster.

"Oh, is _this_ why you snuck off, Yuuri?" Phichit whispered playfully, slipping Yuuri his forgotten hotel keycard. "Could've just told us."

"Holy crap, are you on a date right now?" JJ questioned, his voice loud and carrying.

Yuuri felt his face contort in horror. "This is not a date!"

"That's right," Victor agreed, gesticulating the 'of course' with his hand, palm up. Yuuri didn't know gesticulations could be painful until that moment. "We're going out later. Nice to meet you all, I'm Victor." 

"JJ!" Said his most oblivious roommate, sticking out his hand.

Victor missed a beat but went along with JJ's over-vigorous handshake anyway. Then, vibrating like he was in competition with Yuuri's glitchy phone, Phichit introduced himself as Yuuri's best friend, words that were equally true and surprising to hear out loud. The other guys looked around awkwardly before following suit, a slew of softer handshakes and names.

Yuuri carefully watched all off this unfold, waiting hopefully, to see if anyone asked Victor for something beyond his name. But of course no one could be that helpful. No. Of course not.

They could ask the generically flirty waiter at IHOP everything shy of his social security number as he chatted Yuuri up for extra tips. They could harass the guy at Ninja Boba about why Yuuri, who was just a regular who had earned better service, got extra balls and free bags of popcorn chicken. But God forbid they ask Victor anything pertinent that could give Yuuri a leg up.

 _Internet stalking it is then_ , Yuuri silently conceded. He stood and, only out of politeness, asked if Victor was done with his completely decimated smoothie bowl before clearing their table, feeling eyes on him the entire time.

"So what are you two doing tonight?" Leo asked Victor, making conversation as they exited the building and impolitely blocked some of the walkway with the sheer size of their group.

Yuuri forced himself not to groan. Way to ask the only other thing he already knew.

"We're going to Halsey's show. I've been reliably informed that everyone knows Halsey." Victor winked at Yuuri.

"Literally everyone, even me." Yuuri teased back.

Phichit stopped short in front of Yuuri and spun around. "Wait, you're going to a concert? Yuuri, did you bring clothes for that? Like _clothes."_  

Vague as that was, Yuuri knew exactly what he meant. He had his most decent gear on and it was still a little ratty, especially when compared to what Victor was wearing. Like most dancers, he wore stuff until it fell off. "No."

"There's no need to dress up," Victor assured. "It's not like it's a black tie affair, jeans and a t-shirt will be fine." 

"Black tie!" Phichit sputtered a laugh. "Good luck getting him to wear real pants." 

"You know, I have to say, I don't think I've ever seen Yuuri in anything but sweats and spandex." Javier said.

 _Lies_. He wore jeans occasionally for performances, altered by his mom to add elastics.

"Sweats and spandex?" Victor repeated. "Sweats for practice and spandex for... costumes?" 

"Umm, yeah, for the most part. It's the easiest to move in. You want a lot of stretch--" Yuuri snapped his mouth shut.

There was a lot more involved. Main Stacks had to commit to matching group t-shirts, coordinating sweats, and black jeans, but his other performances could bring in a variety of fabrics and finishings. He loved velvet jackets trimmed with metallic details for ballet, and beautifully dyed flourishes for more modern pieces. But Victor could go on endlessly about a single color, so getting him started on all that costuming had to offer right now, when they were in a time crunch, was a bad idea.

"You can just get something here." Guang Hong chimed in cheerfully. Yuuri didn't have time for that. "We were supposed to be shopping for the Bridge competition anyway." Or that.

"We decided on black and yellow, right?" JJ clarified over his shoulder as he walked ahead of everyone.

"Coordinating but not perfectly matching black and golden yellow," Phichit said, texting, walking, and talking simultaneously.

"You'd know that if you weren't texting your girlfriend while we were taking votes." Leo added.

"Because it takes fifty years to decide on something and I don't even care. I look good in everything. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it."

Victor caught Yuuri's attention to mouth a drawn out ' _Wow_.' Yuuri shook his head and gave Victor his best 'you have no idea' look. He forgot how strange it was to hear someone talk themselves up the way JJ frequently did.

Leo didn't engage and instead turned to Guang Hong, "I'm a little worried about finding the right shade of yellow even though it's a fall color. There's a good variety of places here to look, at least."

"I'm more worried about finding Yuuri some clothes for tonight." Phichit grumbled.

"Well it's not like I can get anything, Phichit. I mean how would I wash them?" Everyone turned to stare and Yuuri realized, with horror, "You want me to wear something from a store without washing it first?" 

Guang Hong was the first to crack. "Everyone does that, right? Right?"

"Yep. Plus you're wearing that newsboy getup tomorrow and I'm pretty sure that's _never_ been washed." Phichit said, causing Yuuri to shudder.

All those theatre kids leaving their oils, sweat, and epithelial cells behind. Their thespian crud. He shuddered again.

“What you're doing is talking me out of wearing that tomorrow."

"Oh come on, it's not a big deal!" Phichit insisted.

“You haven't seen it under a microscope!" Yuuri nearly converted to the holy religion of Purell when he first saw the world at 1000x magnification. Powerful lenses opened his weak eyes to the disgusting microbial wonderland crawling all over everything. "Even new clothes have been touched by tons of people and can have high bacteria counts."

"It's actually the chemicals you have to worry about with new clothes, not bacteria. Typically. I mean it depends on where they're made and how often they've been tried on. And by who." Victor said, like he was giving a presentation on all the reasons to never buy clothes again.

"Hey," Phichit snapped at Victor, "You're not helping." He flashed his phone in Yuuri's face. "Our hotel has self-service laundry. We're good. You can wash the newsboy stuff, too."

"Great..." Apparently Yuuri would be doing the panicking portion of his agenda sans pants.

"Fantastic," JJ said from ten feet ahead. "Hey, now that science has ruined everything, can we go? I need to make it back to the hotel in time for my Skype date."

From there they splintered off, Phichit and Victor intent on helping Yuuri find something for tonight while the other guys hunted down ensembles for Bridges.

"I don't see why we couldn't just go to H&M with everyone?" Phichit questioned.

"Do you remember the jeans I wore when Isabella visited for her birthday and her parents invited us to dinner?" Yuuri said with a sharp look at his friend.

"What? Oh! _Ooh._ " 

"Yeah, never again. That was my only real pair of jeans, too." 

"May they rest in pieces."

"What happened?" Victor looked confused.

"My boy's got back, that's what happened," Phichit said proudly.

"Side split turned seat split," Yuuri clarified. "I had to wear a flannel tied around my waist until we got home." No need to mention that he'd shown his ass, literally, in his thong dance belt. Victor didn't need to hear about his underwear choices or why they'd changed.

"Maybe just don't do splits while wearing jeans?" Victor suggested.

Phichit and Yuuri just laughed. Don't do splits! Like that would _ever_ happen.

 

When they came across a store advertising 60% off men's denim, Yuuri quietly said, "I'll be right back," and made for the door.

Phichit caught his arm. "American Eagle?" he asked, his tone implying that Yuuri's choice wasn't a good one.

Yuuri shrugged and motioned to go into the next store over instead, an Old Navy.

"No. No, please." Phichit pleaded. "All they sell in there is sleep clothes with weird prints on them and super branded stuff."

Even Victor wore a worried expression at that, his eyes searching the mannequins and figuring out quickly that Phichit spoke the truth.

Yuuri reached for the door handle into this apparent fashion hellhole, "That shirt with the pineapple on it is really calling to me."

"The pineapple wearing sunglasses?" Phichit looked like he was going to run.

Victor's mouth just hung open.

Yuuri smiled and held the door open for them, "After you."

Phichit caved, "American Eagle it is. God, why are you like this..."

"I was joking, because I can dress myself, thank you."

"Can you?" Phichit said under his breath.

Yuuri chose to let that one go. He'd already won the battle, no need to burden himself with the war.

Inside, Yuuri skirted around the other shoppers to quickly pile up four pairs of jeans, two button-downs, two long sleeved t-shirts, and a few $5 joggers that were too cheap to resist. Arms full, he headed towards the fitting area. Phichit grabbed a tiny pair of mauve jeggings from a nearby table, shouting, "I'm coming too!" Then pushed him into a fitting room.

"What are you doing?" Yuuri whispered through clenched teeth. "Those are never going to fit you."

Phichit just rolled his eyes and threw them on the bench of their fitting room, "They probably will, actually, but who cares? They're just an excuse to get in here with you."

"Why?"

"Are you serious?"

Yuuri said nothing and shrugged on the first pair of jeans. They got stuck on his thighs. Typical.

"So? Details? How'd you meet this Victor guy anyway?"

Yuuri turned away, embarrassment bubbling up in the form of a strange sort of giggle. "I don't know, I kind of picked him up in a bathroom."

Phichit stopped pulling on his jeggings. "You did what? Yuuri! That's so dirty!" The shocked look on his face was priceless. "You won't wear unwashed clothes but you'll get down in a bathroom?"

"No! Gross." But the image of just that formed in his mind, unbidden and not entirely unpleasant. Victor's legs spread with Yuuri set between them, their hands desperately clinging to one another for balance because they didn't want to touch anything. Ugh. No. Still gross. "Get your head out of the gutter. He had low blood sugar, so I made sure he ate and we started talking. That's it."

"Ok, good, because otherwise I don't know you at all!" Phichit teased, trying to close the button of his clearly too tight jeggings. "So you're like his sexy good samaritan now?"

"Shut it."

"Hey, Mr. Helpful, please get out of the way." Phichit shooed Yuuri from the mirror and turned, sticking his butt out. "Damn. My ass looks fantastic in these."

"I can see your dick."

As if Phichit didn't believe him, he flipped around to check. "Whoa, yeah I should definitely size up." He took a Snap of the back, another one from the front, then dashed off for a proper size saying, "I'll brb!"

He didn't even change out of the indecent pants first, just made a run for it and came back with two pairs.

"You try them on, too," he demanded the moment he returned.

"No."

"Do it."

"No!"

"Do it or I'll post those pictures of you skinny dipping in the Ridge hot tub."

"Ha! Never happened."

"It _so_ happened." Too quickly, like he had a special folder for incriminating photos, Phichit held his phone up as evidence.

Yuuri's eyes bugged out. "Oh God!" He crumpled to the floor in utter defeat.

"I can see your dick." Phichit mocked in what was supposed to be Yuuri's low, deadpan tone of voice.

"Delete that!"

"Put the damn pants on and maybe I'll consider it."

"Fine!"

Yuuri was stripping back down to his dance belt when Victor started calling from the other side of the door.

"Yuuri! Yuuri! I got more things for you to try on."

"Umm, ok, thank you?" Yuuri said, a bit muffled by the t-shirt he had halfway off. He didn't really want to try on a bunch of stuff, but he hadn't had any luck so far, either.

Instead of just letting Victor pass the clothes over the wood slatted door, Phichit opened it all the way and let Victor in.

"Can you believe they didn't have any fuchsia? I mean--" Victor frowned down at Yuuri's growing pile of rejects. "You guys started the fashion show without me?" 

"Fashion show?"

"Of course! That's the fun part of shopping, right? My friend Chris says, 'if you didn't strut, did you really try anything on?'" He winked and started hanging up his selections.

One friend zipping off to Paris instead of using VIP concert tickets, another with a serious fashion kink. Victor clearly had a number of fun, eccentric people in his life.

"Nothing's fit so far," Yuuri offered lamely. Kinda hard to strut when nothing goes over your thick thighs.

"Good thing I brought you a variety of sizes, then. I didn't know your numbers so I just guessed, but," Victor took a hard look at Yuuri's stomach, making him self-conscious, "your waist is really,”--soft? fat? pudgy?--"really slim! I could probably wrap my hands all the way around it."

"You must have big hands." Oh God, did that seriously just come out of his mouth?

Phichit shoved a ball of mauve in his face. "Put them on."

Yes. Pants. And a shirt. Actually... "I don't know what shirt even goes with these?"

"I thought you said you could dress yourself?"

"Yeah, in normal clothes." Blue jeans + t-shirt + something long-sleeved = foolproof concert outfit. Mauve was a thrown wrench.

"Hmm... what about this?" Victor offered a deep royal blue sweater, loose and threadbare like it had been worn for years already. It was soft to the touch but, testing the weave with his fingertips, Yuuri realized it was fairly see-through. He'd need something underneath.

Everything fit surprisingly well, especially the jeans. Not too tight in the seat or thighs, and the dance belt helped to disguise his shape up front.

"These are the best fitting pants I've ever put on in my life," Yuuri admitted.

"Girl jeans for the win," said Phichit, smug. "You want some other colors?"

Yuuri threw a leg up in the air, over his head, and braced it against the wall to listen for the sounds of tortured fabric. No rips, or tears, or busted seams. He smiled. This was the real way to try on pants.

Phichit looked like he couldn't get his phone out fast enough.

"Yeah. Definitely get black if they have them." Mauve wasn't really his thing, as good as it looked with the sweater Victor chose, but he would buy these in any color while he had the chance. Then he wouldn't have to go pants shopping again. All around win.

"What size were those again?"

After taking one more look at the complete outfit, Yuuri tugged them off to reveal the inner labeling.

"I'll see what I can do." Phichit sang.

Yuuri locked the door behind him and turned around just in time to catch Victor shrugging off his undershirt. He did it the sexy way actors got undressed on screen, pulling it from behind and over his tucked head.

"Victor? Why are you...?" He heard himself ask breathlessly. "I mean, do you need clothes too?"

"Nope," Victor grinned, "but it's boring if I don't try anything on."

"Even though we just talked about how gross this is?"

"I wanted my fair share of scary microbes and residual flame retardant. Wouldn't want you to suffer all alone on my behalf." 

Victor got dressed and did his little strut which, in their small fitting room, was less catwalk more turning in place and posing. He wore basically the same thing Yuuri had tried on, colored jeans and a sweater, his thick and cabled and warm.

"That looks... really nice," Yuuri said, carefully considering his words. He wanted to be that sweater. Or underneath it. Victor was some kind of incubus who made $20 markdown knitwear look runway ready.

"Something wrong, Yuuri?" Victor purred, getting close, his low-cut sweater falling away so that Yuuri could see down, down, down. "What is it?"

Yuuri bit at his lips, trying to keep his mouth shut. Every thought rolling to the tip of his tongue was terrible, awkward, and strange. The more he focused on Victor's plump chest and rosy nipples, the more embarrassing his thoughts became.

He needed to come clean, say something like: 'I'm 99% certain I know you, but I don't know how and I'm still trying to place you, wherever we've connected along the course of my life, you beautiful, vivacious man.' Ok, that last bit was unnecessary. Maybe leave that part off.

Yuuri had an awesome memory, but even he had blanked on someone before. He'd given Phichit directions out of a labyrinth-like building on campus once, but he hadn't realized it until a month after becoming roommates the following year. He hoped it wouldn't take a month to figure this out. Surely he wouldn't survive.

"Who are you?" He wanted to ask, standing there in too-new tops and a dance belt. "Who are you and what are you doing here in this fitting room with _me_?"

Instead his brain opted for, "You have something on your face."

Victor's pink tongue swiped his bottom lip, like he thought a smudge of pitaya juice had been left behind.

"Where? What is it? Why didn't you tell me earlier? Did I get it?" Victor angled for the mirror.

Yuuri reached out and ghosted his fingertips across the curve of Victor's cheek.

"There. Just..." Something. Something. Anything. "Just an eyelash." Perfect.

"Oh, Yuuri," Victor sighed his name, "you didn't even make a wish."

In that moment, Yuuri wished for one thing and a hundred thousand things, all of which he kept behind smiling, chewed-up lips. "Sorry."

"I know how you can make it up to me." Victor said suggestively with a wink.

Yuuri held his breath, Victor held up a flashy, dip-dyed button-down and some distressed jeans that looked like they'd actually gone down a garbage disposal.

Yuuri laughed and took hold of the hangers, feeling like an idiot. Of course Victor wasn't actually interested in him like that, just naturally flirtatious. Right?

 

Yuuri finished trying on every stitch of clothing in that fitting room, Victor just as insistent as Phichit. They double-teamed him until Leo pulled Phichit away to check in, thumbing through camera rolls to quickly pick through what each store had and who could wear what. That way there'd be a good, cohesive mix of things on stage.

Some of the other Stacks guys were interested in what they were calling 'The Girl Jeans Challenge,' as seen on Phichit's Snapchat. So they were also treated to Phichit, personal shopper extraordinaire, while Yuuri and Victor checked out.

"You hardly got anything." Victor chided while swiping his credit card, effectively paying for everything Yuuri had decided on.

"Victor! You can't just pay for--"

"I can. Actually," he took the receipt and waved it a little, "I just did."

"Victor."

"I know we hadn't talked about it yet, but these are things you need because of me. Why shouldn't I pay for them?"

"The outfit for tonight, arguably, but it's not like I'm only going to wear it once. And I got other stuff, too."

"Things I chose, and sweats for dance?"

"Yes, but--"

"I've no qualms about that whatsoever, I promise you. You should have nice things to wear. Nicer than this, if I can be honest."

The cashier blushed from secondhand embarrassment, but Victor didn't seem to notice. Yuuri still hesitated, rubbing a sharp vinyl corner of his wallet with his thumb, eyes darting to the people he knew in the room.

"If you're worried about your friends seeing, I don't think anyone noticed, but if you keep going on like this, they might?" He held up the oversized white and blue shopping bag. "Besides, it's not like this was even expensive."

Yuuri knew exactly how much Victor charged to his fancy black credit card before looking at the display. He'd mentally tallied it up while shopping. $152.32. It was a lot of money to him, but, "That's really not the point." He took hold of the bag anyway, moving away from the registers.

Victor followed. "Yuuri, I didn't mean to make you upset."

 "I'm not upset."

"You are upset, and I really don't understand why? You don't like receiving presents?"

Presents? "Presents are for a reason, like birthdays or, I don't know, doing well in a performance, not just because."

"So what you're saying is I need a reason?"

"Yes."

"Even if it would make me really happy to give you something?"

Yuuri thought about the way Victor lit up when they talked about having a costume commissioned.

"I guess stuff for dance is different. That's ok. But this was a little..." Yuuri trailed off, hoping this was the last time he'd have to say something so awkward ever again. Unlikely.

Sauntering over while filming, Phichit said to his phone, "And now we're gonna go cause trouble at the Saks 5th Avenue outlet, because I'm feeling fancy." He tapped to flip the camera. "Are you feeling fancy, Yuuri?"

He must've made a face because Phichit huffed a laugh. Yuuri turned to leave. It was after five. He needed to go.

"I'll take that as a no. Too bad, we're going anyway!"

"I really don't have time! I still need to wash these clothes. That could take an hour."

"It takes an hour to wash clothes?" Victor asked, then changed gears, "That's fine, we'll still make it."

"Please, Yuuri? Leo showed me some amazing pics. Apparently they have an entire section of black and gold setup for New Years Eve."

How'd they end up at Saks anyway? Which rich kid thought starting at the most expensive store was a good idea? He should ditch. His spending-time-with-other-people damage bar was rapidly depleting, and he didn't have money to blow the way a lot of his peers seemed to. Not to mention the telltale grin Victor wore. Even with forewarning, going into a high end store with him was dicey.

"I can see your hamster wheel turning. Stop. Just walk in, look for 5 minutes, and then you can bail on me," Phichit promised.

 

Phichit was a liar.

Half an hour and too many experimental outfits later, Yuuri emerged from Saks Off 5th feeling the tick of the clock. Luckily he had what he needed before coming here or he would've given in and bought something pricy just to get going.

Rushed as he felt, Phichit seemed reluctant to let him go.

"I'll come with you to the hotel." Phichit suggested.

"Why don't you just put a tracker on me?"

Phichit rolled his eyes. "I would GeoLoc you in a heartbeat if your phone worked worth a damn."

"And whose fault is that?"

"You wouldn't show me what Loren said about our date!"

"I can't show you a conversation that never happened! Which is exactly what I told you. Repeatedly."

"I still don't believe that. Anyway, Victor, can I get your number so I can get in touch if I need to? And have him call me if he's not coming back tonight. We're sharing a room, so I will know."

Yuuri elbowed Phichit in the ribs and muttered what he hoped was the correct way to say, " _Use your mouth to eat rice_ ," in Thai.

Victor handed his unlocked phone over without a fuss and Phichit messed with it for a few minutes.

"Are you done?" Yuuri asked. He was kind of in a hurry here.

"Almost." Phichit turned to Victor and took his picture, then sent it to himself. "Anything happens to him and the bottom of these boots will be the last thing you ever see, you got it?" Phichit said with a smile, handing the phone back.

"Totally understood," assured Victor, as if Phichit hadn't just insinuated gruesome homicide.

Once they were alone, speed walking through the parking lot, Yuuri piped up. "Um, sorry about... all that."

"Your friends are charming."

Yuuri had to laugh, "No they aren't."

 "Well, they're not as charming as you," Victor teased, "but they care, in their own way."

Yuuri knew Victor was right, but he wasn't feeling particularly charitable right now. Looming deadlines always made him anxious. If Phichit cared, he wouldn't have run the clock putting Yuuri in ridiculous outfits to drive up his Snapchat viewership. He only went along with it because Victor seemed so amused. Yuuri said as much on the ride to his hotel while viciously snapping off price tags.

As soon as they arrived at Yuuri's hotel and the car stopped, Yuuri rattled off his room number with a 'see you soon,' freeing Victor up to return to his own hotel room to change. He flew to the front desk, buying a single-use packet of laundry soap and a roll of quarters. He dashed up to his room and grabbed the newsboy outfit before hefting everything down to the laundry room, chuckling the lot into the archaic washing machine that had a 50/50 chance of screwing him over.

This left him with about ten minutes to shower and get back for the dryer transfer--if he ran.

He didn't realize he'd forgotten to get more toiletries until he was already under the hot spray. Squeezing out the last, dying gurgles from the tiniest bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo on this bitch of an Earth, Yuuri tried to freak out in a hurry, scrubbing his scalp, his body, and his brain of all the unwanted, clinging debris.

What if the dryer didn't work? What if they hit traffic? What if they were so late the staff wouldn't let them in? What if Yuuri's only draw had been the convenience of their chance meeting and now he was screwing everything up? What if Victor decided not to pick him up at all? What if he--

The song Yuuri used as a countdown ended, leaving only the sound of the shower. Preplanned panic time expired. He threw on some pajamas and took off to switch the clothes. They all had a blue tinge to them, even the newsboy shirt, but at least it wasn't splotchy. He'd chock that up as a win.

Once the dryer was rumbling, Yuuri sagged against the machine. He wished it could shake away the sense that something wasn't right. Things were happening both too quickly and too slowly, a tugging hurry-up-and-wait feeling that left him on edge.

He stood on his insteps, rolling, cracking, alternating feet. He wanted a barre. He had a washing machine.

It would have to do.

Two hours ago he'd been thinking of Victor as a stepping stone, taking any advantage he could get. He had thought it wouldn't affect him all that much if Victor found him slightly annoying. Or too self conscious. Or too quiet. Or just plain boring.

Because at the time those were manageable outcomes, each more likely than the last. Even if Victor had a serious role in his scholarship or med school application process, people weren't harshly penalized in academia for being a middling awkward bore. He would know.

It was different now. What changed in two hours? He released the washer to use his arms properly.

What had Victor said about his body?

First position, fleeting.

About his charm?

Second position, cut short.

And what specifically had Victor mentioned that made it seem like they'd be seeing a lot more of each other?

Third position, held.

Trying to analyze Victor's every word and action did nothing to calm him. No, the opposite. That nagging worry finally revealed itself: This was probably all the time he would have with Victor. The revelation left him empty, blank.

He squeezed his legs in third and let his glutes burn, then let up.

Fourth position, held but trembling.

He tried to tell himself it didn't matter, that he only planned to make a good impression on someone who could benefit his academic trajectory. That he wasn't angling for something else entirely. Maybe he could tell himself that all night, until they parted ways and never saw one another again.

He fell out of fourth and banged his knee against smooth, enameled metal.

What if he didn't want to give up Victor's attention? What if he wanted to keep Victor's gaze and this was his one chance?

Wanting things hurt, but pushing away what he wanted had started to hurt, too. For _once_ he wanted to grab for something he desired.

He wanted Victor to like him. Not the same way he hoped to get along with his roommates or classmates or dance partners. More. More than that. He hadn't felt this way since the flutters of his middle school crush on Yuuko began changing into something strange and intense.

Yuuri frowned. That hadn't gone well at all. He pined for her for years, then lost all hope of her to Nishigori before he'd worked up the nerve to confess.

He rubbed his bruised knee.

Victor was like something buoyant that could float away if he didn't tether it down. More than hope, he needed to find their connection and hold it tight

 

Back in his hotel room the wi-fi wouldn't automatically connect and, for once, his phone wasn't at fault. It just required a password, which he eventually found on a slip of cardstock under Phichit's pillow.

He grabbed his laptop, ready to pour over Victor's messages, profiles, and anything else he could find. First he checked his email. There weren't many, and none were from Victor. He paused at his Dance advisor's name, clicking to skim it, in case it was important.

He closed it. An email about how to succeed in Dance after graduation was the absolute last thing he needed to read right now.

From there, he checked his neglected social media accounts. There were a ton of notifications on his Instagram from new followers and comments on tagged photos, candids from this morning's class and Phichit's 'Girl Jeans Challenge.' He sifted through them all, recognizing a number of people from L.A. Ballet. They were leaving a lot of kind hearted comments, the coddling kind. Sometimes it was a bother to have such a youthful face. Would they be so encouraging if they knew he was a nearly 22-year-old nobody instead of an up and coming teenager?

Snapchat, Twitter, and Facebook were much the same, with more tags and notifications than he knew what to do with, but wherever he went, he wasn't finding anything like the messages Victor mentioned. He went back to Instagram, certain that he'd missed something.

His phone went off, buzzing with a text from Victor.

>> Waiting by the front desk. Are you ready or should I come up?

Shit!

<< Be right there!

He took off running for the laundry station, pulling the load out and racing back to his room to change. Hopefully he wasn't going to this concert in wet denim and a wrinkled shirt.

His jeans weren't too bad, just a little damp around the waistband. Nothing discernible to anyone but him. The shirt was perfect, coming out smooth and hot from the dryer, making him overly warm. He ran anyway, just to see Victor that much sooner. He tried not to let his mind linger over long on the reasons why.

"Yuuri! You didn't have to run," Victor said as they met. He held Yuuri's face in his hands. "Now you're all flushed."

That wasn't helping at all.

Victor picked at Yuuri's shirt a moment, "This was a good choice. You look great."

"Thank you. You, too," he managed to say.

Honestly the hardest thing about talking to Victor was figuring out where to look. The motion of his lips and long, side-swept fringe were distracting. His blue eyes clear and endless.

They were brighter now, and Yuuri wondered again if he'd been upset when they'd met. Maybe even crying? His cheeks hadn't been wet or tear-tracked, or at least not that he'd noticed, but his eyes had definitely been more red before. People didn't cry about low blood sugar.

Yuuri felt a little guilty for forgetting the kind of face Victor had made then. Victor had been a force of nature with some sugar in him, it was almost too easy to believe it was just an excuse. He would have to keep that in mind. The same Victor who shamelessly played Candy Crush instead of trying to look cool was also the kind of man who could hide his tears and lie when he needed to; a complicated man.

Victor frowned with what seemed like disapproval, "Wait, something's missing..."

Yuuri looked down, taking stock. Clothes, matching shoes, pockets heavy with his wallet and phone, blue half-rims over his eyes. "I..." Yuuri shook his head in confusion. What was Victor talking about? He had everything.

Victor leaned in, his thumb rubbing along Yuuri's lower lip. "Your smile."

And oh, God. The anxious rush was back, his heart pounding furiously until his face and ears burned, but he didn't crave a barre or a jog, or a bakery full of carbs. He just wanted to be right where he was doing exactly what he was doing.

 ~~Networking~~ Concert _date_ ~~thing~~ , Yuuri amended again, certain.

Victor grinned then, heart-shaped and heart-stopping, "Perfect." He put an arm around Yuuri's shoulders, leading him outside.

Yuuri only realized he was smiling when it started to hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Victor can’t believe his luck.
> 
>  
> 
> Update: I haven’t forgotten about this story. The next few chapters are so interwoven that I had to write them all concurrently.


	5. Baby Hold Me Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >> You made sure he was legal right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this story while hiding in a spare bedroom at a holiday party and guess what? I’m back on my bullshit! So Happy New Year!! Save me some champs, I’ll be in this coat closet.
> 
> I’d like to thank my friends for bolstering my confidence in writing enough to post after wicked, months-long block. Anne, Morg, & Izzy, you’re all more lovely than I deserve and I appreciate you more than I can say. I hope to be an even better friend to you in the new year <3

Arousal had its own logic and its own risks. Victor could attest to that. His recent foray into the world of cash for darker pleasures had left him struggling to untwist strange, primal thoughts. Even undone, they were left not curved or kinked, but inexplicably altered nonetheless, a lasting impression he couldn’t seem to shake.

His reckless exchange with CB not quite behind him and his date with Yuuri immediately in front of him, Victor decided to put off dealing with it for another time. Specifically Tuesday at 2:30pm: his next therapy appointment. He was a mess, the kind best left to a professional, and wow Dr. Rita would be earning her paycheck this week.

Not that Chris wouldn’t play armchair therapist at some point, likely when Victor got drunk enough to fully admit to his awkward restroom fumbling. There was no way he could get through this story sober while his best friend roasted him. Trust Chris to point out that what started as a bit of a bragging point was now anything but. Instead of an exotic notch in his bedpost, it was an embarrassing secret, much like that first, gigantic dildo he’d purchased before realizing his eyes were bigger than his ass—

“Hi! Can I help you with anything?” A salesgirl asked with faux retail cheer.

Right. Shopping. He must’ve zoned out in front of the floor-to-ceiling wall of denim while trying to select something for Yuuri.

“Thank you, but I think I’ve got it.” Victor flashed a confident smile and held up whatever was in his hands.

Black jeans and a vivid red shirt. Safe choices for a Halsey concert, and at least the red would complement Yuuri’s warm, flawless skin and eyes. He wished this store carried more of a selection. Everything in here was painfully basic and modest and _God_ did he want to see him in something edgy and risqué—throw it down as a challenge.

Because whether by accident or design or because he was an overly presumptuous fool who read way too far into things, Victor had to admit that AlwaysDancing’s profile had misled him. While Yuuri was severely endearing in person, with a wholesome student-athlete vibe Victor found refreshing, he’d presented himself as a sexy, switched-on playboy in his pictures. Or at least that was Victor’s impression.

It was remarkable that he’d recognized Yuuri at all. If his glasses had stayed on, or his hair hadn’t been wet and slicked back just so—basically if they hadn’t met at that exact moment—Victor never would have put it together. He could’ve stood in the same room, even exchanged a few words, and still missed his connection to Yuuri entirely.

Still, he couldn’t blame Yuuri for using the most flattering shots on his camera roll. They’d done their job and attracted his attention. And it wasn’t as though Yuuri suddenly lost all his charm when he put on a pair of clunky glasses and let his hair fall naturally. Far from it, actually.

No, the problem was that Yuuri wouldn’t flirt. At all. No matter what he did to encourage him. Even when Victor doled out compliments like Botox before the holidays, Yuuri hadn’t reciprocated, his responses a mix of overblown shyness and quiet disbelief. He also teased without any suggestive innuendo, unable to weave flirtation into a joke he could laugh off, risk-free.

Victor didn’t want to think about why he felt so desperate for praise right now. Instead, he focused on the things he liked about the real Yuuri. Things that hadn’t come across online, like how expressive and cute his flushed face was, the way he seemed a little bit awkward as if he didn’t have much experience with this sort of thing, and his care. Yuuri has taken better care of him than anyone had in a long time.

His mind circled back again and again, trying to figure out why his attempts at flirtation weren’t getting anywhere. Yuuri could clearly display his sensuality in front of the camera, so why wasn’t he bringing it out now? The only conclusions he could draw were that Yuuri intended to start off slow or even platonically, and, possibly related, he might lack confidence in his seductive skills.

Victor quickly discovered he was wrong about, well, everything.

 

* * *

 

Cramped together in an outlet dressing room about the size of Makkachin’s toy closet, Yuuri had stripped down to tight, nude briefs, complaining that nothing fit. Victor could easily see why. Not only did Yuuri have a considerable bulge up front, his ass was, in a word, unreal.

Except that it was real. It had to be real. Even he couldn’t fake those high, muscular curves. Yuuri had the right thighs to carry it, too, thick with overdeveloped quads. Victor had never seen such musculature. He held in the impulse to sink to his knees and praise.

(And look up the properties of kale. For science.)

A t-shirt had blocked most of the view when he first came in, or he’d have already collapsed to the ground and embarrassed himself. As it was, he’d only commented on Yuuri’s waistline out of surprise. He could typically spout off anyone’s numbers just by looking at them, an occupational hazard turned party trick. But he’d been off this time because Yuuri buried himself in nebulous workout gear, completely disguising his shapely attributes. Now Victor could see Yuuri’s physicality for what it was: a striking combination of babyface and erotic body.

He took a moment to collect himself, arranging the clothes he’d chosen as he watched Yuuri negotiate his ass into skintight denim. It was a beautiful struggle. Did he really need to bounce like that? Or was this for his benefit? He’d just have to ask—

“Oh,” Victor’s mouth hung open, his flirtatious line evaporating along with all thought. Yuuri had kicked his leg up over his head until it was nearly vertical, perching it against the wall with confidence and ease.

When they said splits, he pictured spray-tanned cheerleaders splayed on the ground, looking uncomfortable. He had not imagined _this_.

Yuuri’s body was capable of so much. He was struck with the possibilities of it, gawking as the dancer posed for his friend’s video, head angled to show off the length of his neck, arms spread to parallel the line of his legs, his fingers and toes delicately curled. Yuuri’s eyes caught his for a moment and then looked away again with either timidity or pointed nonchalance.

Victor was desperate to know which.

Only one thing to do, then. Run up the tab. Make Yuuri understand that he was interested in getting to know him much, much better.

 

* * *

 

They spent the next hour watching one another get in and out of things, cotton and denim at American Eagle, silks and embroidered pieces at Saks. Just as he’d suspected, Yuuri looked beautiful in anything, even when he put his foot through the knee of a pair of distressed jeans and scrambled to keep upright.

It was kind of exciting not knowing what Yuuri would do next. Exciting without the edge of wariness Victor had felt with CB. Something about Yuuri’s demeanor reassured him, made him feel more confident and comfortable with this kind of arrangement.

That feeling stayed with him after dropping Yuuri off at his hotel. Victor was able to take a long shower and get ready at a relaxed pace, giving Yuuri time to wash his clothes after Googling to see if it really took an entire hour to do laundry.

It did. His mother had been right about hiring laundry out. How did anyone have time for it?

He smoothed out the professionally pressed collar of his shirt, checking himself in the mirror. His fringe was possibly too voluminous after killing time with a hairdryer. No matter, it would quickly fall with the Southern Californian heat. Humidity was an ever-present enemy.

Glaring back at the sun on his way out of the hotel, he slipped on a pair of heavy sunglasses he didn’t remember buying and got his wallet out to tip the valet. Chris texted just as he started his car, lapful of keys, phone, wallet, and concert tickets.

>> Blow a kiss to Halsey for me

What a thing to say after bailing and telling Victor to go with a paid stranger! These were probably his best friend’s sunglasses, too. Well he wasn’t getting them back now.

<< Blow yourself  
>> I don't have to  
<< I don't either

Did he really want to go down this road? His phone sang, joyous with Chris’s call. Too late now.

"You met someone!"

"Maybe..." Why was he doing this to himself?

“Well? Details!”

Victor sighed. Chris had a sixth sense about these things. Better to just get this over with.

“He’s from that sugar site. He's a dancer.”

“A stripper?” Chris asked, loud and quick.

"No, a dancer-dancer," Victor heard himself say as if that clarified anything. "Like a ballerina? Ballerin-o? Whatever, ballet."

“Oooooooh… High-class ass, the kind you can take home to mommy.”

“God no. My mother would tear him apart—he’s still in school.”

Chris hummed at that, “They usually are. Anyway, I didn’t mean that literally.”

“Well I wasn’t planning on introducing him to anyone.”

“Not even me?” Chris pouted.

“Especially not you.”

“Hmph. Planning to keep him your dirty little secret, then?”

“I’d say so, considering I lost my virginity before he was—”

“Oh, who _cares_! What's he like? Is he cute?”

“Very cute and, I don't know, serious? Quiet? But also kind of sassy.”

“So you like him? Because that’s what matters. You don’t need to lead with ‘hey I was fucking before he could walk.’” He paused to apologize to someone on his end and moved to a quieter space before continuing with, “It sounds like you know quite a lot about _him_ already.”

Chris was phishing for a name, but Victor wasn’t giving it up.

“We went shopping earlier. It was kind of weird, he said he doesn’t want me to buy him things? Put up a fuss about it.”

“That’s... new. Maybe it’s a tactic? He’s just saying no so you’re the one pushing to give him more?”

“Well if that’s what he’s doing, it’s working.”

“Already wrapped around his little finger, hmm? Good.”

“I thought he was supposed to be wrapped around my finger?”

“Ha! That has never been my experience. Just try to enjoy it, Victor.”

They continued talking even after he arrived at Yuuri’s hotel, Chris quickly passing on tips during his farewell that Victor could have used _before_ meeting up with anyone, like how to make sure your date wasn’t an outright prostitute and how to manage a sugar baby’s spending and expectations without looking cheap.

That info was pretty useless right now, though he appreciated the company while he waited for Yuuri in the lobby. Just when he was checking the time, he saw a flash of black hair and vivid blue glasses. Excitement prickled along his skin.

“Chris, he’s here. Wow he’s too adorable. Wish me luck!”

He had to hang up quickly, forgoing any actual well wishes, because Yuuri wasn’t calmly sauntering down the hallway like he’d expected. No, he was running in earnest, his face as pink and balmy as when they’d first met, right after his jog.

Up close Yuuri’s eyes were bright, but something about the set of his jaw seemed off. Maybe he was nervous? Victor smiled. He knew just how to fix that.

 

* * *

 

They hadn’t even made it out of the lobby when Victor’s phone buzzed again. He thought Chris was still throwing out sugaring tips, but instead saw a dreadful question waiting.

>> You made sure he was legal right?

What? _Really_? That was something he had to worry about?

His best friend fired off two ways to assure 18+ status followed by several rather salacious reminders of the kind of trouble he got up to as a teen. Chris had been blessed with early facial hair and a very deep voice, then promptly shrugged off every bit of his innocence in seedy nightclubs at sixteen.

Victor tried not to let Jailbait Giacometti anecdotes bother him. But they did, especially when he caught the heavy scent of Yuuri’s drugstore deodorant in the closed space of his car. It was the same thick variety Mittie, his family’s housekeeper, had purchased for him when he started smelling like funk after band practice. She’d left it at his bathroom sink with instructions on a little post-it note, signed with a curly M that looked just like his because she was nearby during his first English cursive meltdown.

(God forbid he write love letters in print.)

Instead of telling Yuuri that he smelled like nostalgia and angsty, lovelorn teenager, he went with, “Feel better now that you’ve washed everything?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said, still flushed from earlier, his perfect skin glowing. “Sorry for making you rush around. Um, I promise I’m not a germaphobe or anything.”

“Even if you were, there are worse things than wanting to be clean. I’m very neat myself thanks to med school. They kind of beat it into your head until it’s second nature.”

“My family runs a bathhouse with an attached restaurant. Maybe it’s in my blood?”

“Wait—a bathhouse-slash-restaurant?” he asked, watching Yuuri nod. “Wow.”

“They’re common in Japan. My hometown was a tourist destination full of natural hot springs resorts, but the economy’s been on a downturn for a while. A lot of them closed as people left for better job opportunities.”

Japan still hadn’t bounced back from the 90’s bust? He’d studied it a bit in college, in passing, and didn’t remember much about it.

Yuuri continued to explain how things were changing in the smaller towns and most of the countryside in Japan and many other countries. But Victor was only half listening, too distracted by the uneven timbre of Yuuri’s voice and his button nose. His mind kept trying to find an equation that took into account how young Yuuri looked, how exuberant his friends were, how Otabek could pass for 25 and Yuri for 12. There was really no way to tell just by looking. Yuuri could easily be some 17-year-old Cal freshman who traded-in his junior prom tickets for early college admission.

But this wasn’t exactly a high schooler’s topic of conversation, something he realized a few minutes later than he should have. Yura never talked about the economy, much less in relation to age demographics and population growth initiatives like Yuuri was delving into now. Victor had never been so glad to hear the words _tax reform_ in his life. He was starting to relax again and really listen as Yuuri ranted about Japan’s well meaning but slightly off center socioeconomic policies.

“And that same faulty tax code makes it more financially sensible for women to stay home than work since they’re—hey wasn’t that the arena?” Yuuri said anxiously, head whipping over his shoulder.

“That’s the open-top sports stadium. We’re going to Honda Center. Should be just ahead.”

With any luck they might actually make Charli’s set.

 

* * *

 

Despite Yuuri’s quick pace and the nonexistent line, they didn’t get to their seats until well into Charli’s third song. Yuuri apologized repeatedly on the way, which was just shy of annoying. Victor told him to stop, that there was nothing to apologize for, and he thankfully listened.

When Charli bid the audience a loud, cheerful goodnight, Victor was quick to stand, wanting to get out before PartyNextDoor could assault his eardrums again. He watched as Yuuri slowly uncurled from his seat, his legs looking painful and serpentine.

Yuuri followed his eyes down.

“Ah, I was just stretching my feet. I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

Victor wondered if he’d been sitting like that at the juice bar earlier. Was this common among dancers? Or ballet dancers? Or specifically of Yuuri himself?

Yuuri hadn’t looked like Victor’s idea of a ballet dancer at first glance, a bit too rough around the edges for such a delicate dance. But now that he knew, it was obvious in his every move. How his feet curved around the legs of his chair. The unnatural set of his ankles when he took a step back and his feet landed perfectly perpendicular. His graceful reach. The way he walked, so straight and controlled. Everything about him was—

“We have to get out of here before the next group starts,” whined the annoying woman who talked through Charli’s ending address. “They’re god awful.”

Yuuri turned to give them another look of disapproval.

“Unfortunately she’s right.”

After a quick explanation of what was coming, Yuuri agreed they should bail.

“Even Charli’s set was on the loud side towards the end,” Yuuri admitted as they left.

“Really? I didn’t think so.”

“Some of us can still hear.”

“WHAT?”

“I said some of us—”

He tapped Yuuri’s chapped lips, “Shush. I’m kidding.”

“Oh.” Yuuri’s nervous little laugh was almost as unexpected as the blush that followed.

They’d practically stripteased all afternoon and touched like this earlier, and more sensually. What was a brief tap against Yuuri’s lips at this point? Unless… ugh. If Yuuri was underage, he would just die. And even if he was 18 or 19, that felt different somehow than 20 or 21. He needed a drink counter—stat. And an anal retentive bartender who religiously checked ID.

 

* * *

 

A bar was set up just down the hall and Victor noticed a selection of local ales displayed in their refrigerated cases.

Hallelujah.

“Let’s get something decent to drink while we can,” he said casually, guiding them toward salvation.

The line was long but efficient, and sooner than Victor expected, they were up. He realized in the middle of ordering that although they’d chatted about the variety of drinks offered, Yuuri hadn’t decided on anything.

“I’ll take a Coast to Coast and… Yuuri? What will _you_ be drinking.”

“Oh, just a water, please.”

No. No no no no no.

He was about to insist on ordering a second beer when the bartender discreetly ignored his ID for his AMEX, which was swiped and handed back. Victor held his cards dumbly, trying to figure out how to recover from this. Anything he came up with was too obvious.

The bartender handed them their drinks and apologized for keeping the water bottle cap, then turned to the people next in line with a dismissive, “What can I get for you.”

Well, that was a failure in every way. At least he had beer?

“Do you not drink?” he managed to ask as they moved out of the way.

Yuuri shrugged and sidestepped, “I’m actually feeling a little dehydrated.”

Victor had spent enough time staring at Yuuri’s chapped lips to know that was a real possibility, and he had done a lot of running today. Yuuri guzzling down his drink only confirmed his thirst.

This was fine.

“Why did he keep the cap?” Yuuri asked, even though he’d nearly finished off the bottle and wouldn’t have a chance to miss it.

“So you can’t throw it at the performers.”

“What? Who would do something like that?” Yuuri shook his head, “I mean—”

A loud bass beat hitched up, interrupting Yuuri and shaking the building. Two voices began a frenetic back and forth chant that rose in volume until it became strange, unplaceable noise. Victor saw Yuuri’s lips twitch.

“Ok,” Yuuri held up a hand, “I get it. This is—it’s like the sound of a migraine in traffic.”

“It really is.”.

“How much longer?”

“Halsey’s set to start at 8, so,” he checked his phone, “20 minutes. Ish.”

Yuuri made a look similar to a wince, “Can we just walk around a little longer?”

“Of course! We’re not going back in there until they're...gone.”

They shared another huff of laughter and continued to meander through the hall with other concertgoers, some escaping the noise, others foolishly heading towards it. Yuuri seemed content to walk close and quiet, his eyes lingering on the more revealing outfits some had chosen to wear. A woman in red knee-high boots. A man in a purple bodysuit so tight it looked painted on. A couple in latex hotpants. He didn’t seem drawn to any of them, merely conscience of their flaunted, inferior bodies.

He wondered if Yuuri was thinking that, too. Probably. Putting yourself on a sugaring website took a certain level of self-assuredness and spoke of an ego Victor would love to see Yuuri display. Maybe not right at this moment, but later, if he didn’t have a curfew or something.

As if to test his morals on the spot, Yuuri looked over and overtly skimmed his figure with interest. Victor would not flirt back, would not dip in close and say ‘see something you like?’ No, he would remain as innocent as a newborn poodle.

Fortunate considering Yuuri’s true focus.

“I've seen a few people wearing white versions of these.” Yuuri held up his VIP lanyard and card. “What’s the difference?”

“It’s just a way to tell which VIP section you’re in. Some people will see the show more than once to collect both passes.” Victor was one of such, but didn’t reveal it.

“And this?” Yuuri tapped at the bold HOUSE AUREUM lettering. “I know Aureum means gold in Latin.”

“House Aureum is Halsey’s take on the Montagues. Her reimagining of the warring households has two opposing visual themes.

House Angelus—the Capulets—uses traditional angelic imagery, swords and airy wings, silver and soft white.

House Aureum carries a darker, grittier mood, all gold and black, bees, bright red roses, shields, and crossed swords.”

“Ah. These violent delights have violent ends.” Yuuri read off the tiny quote nearly falling off the bottom of his pass.

“Most of the album's aesthetic was lifted directly from the 1996 Romeo & Juliet film—that one that looked like a long music video, where Leonardo DiCaprio started off in gorgeous armor but spent most of his screen time in an open floral shirt?”

He could talk about that film until morning. Shakespeare had never looked so good and if Victor hadn’t already had his gay awakening, that might’ve done it. Bless Halsey for tapping into that full-blown, oversaturated aesthete porn.

“Haven’t seen it... yet,” Yuuri said, as if he intended to remember and look up the title. “I have seen the ballet many times, and the play, though I’m more of a fan of Midsummer Night.”

A comedy with no true loss. Interesting.

“I like the intense, all or nothing romance in the tragedies.” Victor tried not to sound wistful. “Romeo is so loyal. Imagine you find your love dead and your first thought is to drink poison to join them?”

“But Juliet, she’s brave,” Yuuri said. “She doesn’t just drink poison, she gores herself with a dagger. And she’s only 13.”

“Teenagers are so dramatic.”

“I wasn’t.”

Wasn’t—that was promising. “No?”

“Maybe a little?” Yuuri looked a bit wry. “I was more stubborn. And overly ambitious. Though it didn’t feel that way at the time.”

“That’s the best thing about being a teenager.”

“That feeling like you can do anything?”

“Absolutely. My 15-year-old cousin is in the throes of it now. He decided to follow his mother’s footsteps and become an actor. With his connections, he got a lot of work in Russia, but he left all of that behind to move to LA. He’s already making a name for himself stateside.”

“That’s amazing.” Yuuri looked to the floor for a moment, down to the sea of ubiquitous converse and black boots, along with a few pairs of masochistic flip flops.

“Yeah. You’ll definitely notice when he makes it since you two share the same name.”

The crowd stalled in front of them and they realized they’d run into a line.

“You want to look at merch?” Victor offered.

“Merch?”

“Merch. As in merchandise.”

A girl buying a shirt pulled it over her head, donning it proudly for the show.

Yuuri squinted disgust before realizing Victor was watching.

“Are you sure you’re not a germaphobe?” He kept it playful.

“I’m not, I just never realized people did that?” He looked around and saw that many people were wearing that same tour shirt, likely purchased minutes ago. “So weird.”

“Well I think it’s strange to wear the shirt of the band you’re seeing.” Yuuri shot him a quizzical look. “It’s a concert culture thing. Consider it uncool.”

“Uncool?”

“Yeah.”

Did people not say cool and uncool anymore? He couldn’t keep up with slang and wondered what other lameass words he’d used without realizing it. Wait, was lameass still in use? Maybe he should ask Mila and Yuri about it.

PartyNextDoor finished then to what sounded like grinding feedback noise and then in was blessedly, blessedly quiet.

Victor couldn’t help but smile, not that he tried.

“Shall we?”

 

* * *

 

They took their seats again and watched the road crew wrestle a large curtain up until it became a huge white sail that eclipsed the stage.

“What are they…?” Yuuri gestured at the shroud.

“You’ll see. I’m not ruining the surprise.”

Nevermind that he had to hold his fingertips over his lips to refrain from gushing all about it until the show started.

Synthesized music rose and the stage flooded with light, punching through the veil like shifting fog. When Halsey revealed herself, it was as a lone silhouette still behind the curtain. Everyone screamed as the barrier between audience and performer fell to divulge not only the star of the show but a stage full of bright LED stairs and twin megascreens.

Victor watched as Yuuri’s wide brown eyes darted all over, like they couldn’t decide where to land. It was a lot of to take in. The videos playing on the display screens could serve as diversion enough. Then the sole backup dancer came out and Yuuri leaned against the railing to get just that much closer.

Victor was glad he’d already seen the show yesterday and had good seats for a true second viewing tomorrow because his eyes kept wandering from the stage to his date. Yuuri looked up at him with literal stars in his eyes, the gobo-covered spotlights reflecting sparks of red and orange, his smile just as dazzling. Victor squeezed Yuuri's forearm, letting him know that he understood and appreciated his awe.

It was everything he wanted. That sweet, effervescent satisfaction buoyed Victor well into the set list, until the grand piano was rolled out. The lights were set low, a galaxy of blue and purple with twinkling bursts of white stars. A pianist in a white tux walked to the bench and started in straight away, manipulative and slow. Then Halsey approached and, before she’d even lifted her mic, Victor felt his eyes and throat burn with emotion. Clenching his jaw, he breathed slowly through his nose, staving off tears.

The stripped version of Closer hit, heavy and repetitive as an intrusive thought wearing him down. He’d made it through last night without real tears. He thought he had this.

And then “Sorry” came on and he lost it, unable to hold back anymore. These stripped down tracks were raw and painful, the longing strains of piano adding to an emotional tempest he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He felt Yuuri’s eyes on him. This is why he didn’t want to invite a stranger in the first place, or go by himself. Sometimes music pulled things out of him that even he was unaware of.

To his credit, Yuuri didn’t say anything tide or stupid, just looked forward, resolute, and lifted up another plaid handkerchief for Victor to use. But that was like salt on a wound, a reminder that crying wasn’t even the most embarrassing thing he’d done in front of a stranger today. Jacking off for the amusement of someone he’d known for 5 minutes probably topped this in anyone’s book.

He sighed. Half the stadium had their phones on record and here he was, crying over a ballad. At times like these he really missed the hood-like cover of his longer hair.

Yuuri moved closer, pressing their shoulders together and Victor stiffened. What were they even doing? He felt like he was playing some kind of game. ‘How many bad decisions can you make in a day?’

Victor chanced a full look at Yuuri. There were tears banked against the rims of his eyes and his lips were pulled taut like he was still fighting to hold back. This Yuuri—who might have studied The Wall Street Journal during his paper route so he could give convincing, college-level speeches about economic policy—was so effortlessly charming like this, with his emotions not quite in check, his shoulder warm and steady. Victor couldn’t help but give him a watery grin.

The lights came up and the piano-of-feelings was rolled away. Quieter background music played as the stage was reset with the large stairway, its LED risers glowing.

“Well we’re very macho, aren’t we?” Victor said, breaking the moment.

“Yeah,” Yuuri said, traces of his tears nearly gone. “Very tough. A void of emotion.”

“I only cried on the day I was born.”

“I didn’t even cry then.”

“Wow.”

They laughed together and then Victor found himself apologizing and handing back the handkerchief. Yuuri wouldn’t let him do either.

“Keep it. You might need it again.”

“I won’t. The songs that really get me have already played and I won’t randomly burst into tears.”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows but said nothing. 

“No more embarrassing, crybaby moments from me,” Victor insisted.

“Hey. To be moved to tears like that is… incredible. Any performer would be thrilled to know they can affect you so much and...”

“And…?”

“Nothing!”

“And…?”

“And... you’re pretty when you cry.”

Victor gasped, hand flying to clutch his throat, “Sadist.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to make you cry!”

“No, you said you enjoy watching me when I do.”

“I did not,” Yuuri muttered.

Angel on Fire’s opening beats reverberated throughout the arena as flames burst on stage. Victor wanted to hold Yuuri’s hand through this one, the heat of the fire licking at his nose and cheeks. He took deep breaths instead, measuring them out and holding on to the rush it gave him. His eyes slid along every marked exit.

Operation: Get Yuuri A Bottle Of Wine was priority one after this.

 

* * *

 

The night slipped by in that very legal bottle of wine, in conversation, in wisps of little touches and Victor getting distracted by Yuuri’s eyes, until suddenly they had no time left at all. Despite feeling exhausted, Yuuri was even worse off and passed out in the car, giving Victor a valid reason to walk him all the way up to his room like a gentleman.

They said their goodbyes in the hallway, all playful banter until Yuuri peered up at him like he’d bitten off more than he could chew, his lips wet. Victor wanted to kiss him. Kiss him and throw him against the wall and put that leg up in the air again. Or, better yet, have Yuuri pin him to the wall.

Maybe best to leave it at a kiss tonight, before he got ahead of himself. He asked if it was ok, then with a nod from Yuuri, dived in deep.

Yuuri’s lips were warm and rough. Victor licked at them with the slightest tease and everything came crashing down. He’d spent half a day wondering if this was a good idea. If Yuuri was old enough or safe enough. He’d forgotten something key: whether or not Yuuri wanted him like this.

The glare of brass hotel room numbers as the door slammed in his face was pretty clear.

 

* * *

 

Fuck this day.

Victor’s head hurt. He sat at the hotel bar, slowly draining a bottle of wine. Alone.

He’d wanted to take it with him to the pool, but they wouldn’t let him leave the bar area with an entire bottle. Also the pool was apparently closed.

Yuuri’s taste in hotels was garbage.

So here he sat, two generous pourings in, with a bartender who avoided eye contact and unnecessary chatter. Pulling out his phone, he thought about calling Chris or Georgi, but it was almost three in the morning. Nothing good ever happened at 3am.

He hit the sugar app. It went straight to his inbox, which had a good number of messages. Messages from people who wanted him.

“I could be with this Brian guy,” he said, flashing a picture of a shirtless dude playing soccer to the barkeep.

  
She didn’t say anything. Clearly Brian hadn’t impressed her.

“No? How about Henry, then?”

The bartender’s face became even more unpleasant. She wasn’t into the bold beard trend either.

“Or this Joel. Is it Jo-el or Joool? Or Jewelll? Or maybe he’s hispanic and it’s Yo-el?”

“Jol.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t _know_. But he has a farmer’s tan.”

“Ah.” The true mark of the devil. You know who also had a farmers tan? Yuuri. On the back of his neck. It was light but it was there.

He searched for AlwaysDancing, wanting to see if that tan line was obvious in his pictures or just more false advertising.

“Wow nice,” the bartender leaned in, “Ballet huh? You should go for him.”

Victor downed his glass and grabbed the bottle. There were two things he was officially done with tonight: sugar babies and sobriety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narrator voice: He wasn’t, not by a long shot.
> 
>  
> 
> Next up: Yuuri being Yuuri totally freaks out.
> 
> Or, what actually happened. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow I ended up on twitter [ @smolkristen](https://twitter.com/smolkristen)


End file.
